


Dolce et Cedez

by LivelyColorfulWorld



Series: If music be the food of love... play on! [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 22k words of me talking about impressionist music/art, Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Development, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Flute performance major! Mark, Flute performance major! Renjun, Huang Ren Jun-centric, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, Piano performance major! Jaemin, if you’re a flute player no there’s no chaminade in this:)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivelyColorfulWorld/pseuds/LivelyColorfulWorld
Summary: Renjun was ten when he entered his first flute competition. He was eleven when he saw Mark Lee for the first time at a woodwind competition. And he was twelve when he dubbed the other boy his biggest rival.Mark was everything he wasn’t. Mark never struggled with musicality and never worried about being perfect and always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.He'd nearly forgotten about Mark Lee amidst the college applications and auditions.The last thing he was expecting was for Mark Lee to come out of his flute professor's room, laughing while holding his flute case to his chest and carrying a bag full of flute books.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Mark Lee
Series: If music be the food of love... play on! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893112
Comments: 66
Kudos: 188





	Dolce et Cedez

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is going to be kinda long, but please bear with me! If you reallyyy don't feel like reading, just read point two for the playlist pls:)
> 
> 1\. The title! So yes, I did mash together two different languages lol but they're both musical terms  
> Dolce is Italian, and it means sweet  
> Cedez is French, and it means slow  
> So the rough translation is sweetly and slowly:)  
>   
> 2\. This is a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Oof1DibhqAAnJ1dFvO7ib?si=9O9RTZmhRc6bVXRuKQJpZw) with every single piece mentioned in this fic in order! Mark's chamber piece's arrangement isn't on spotify, but here's the [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMsJ1a2M4YE) if you want to check it out.
> 
> 3\. In the parts of this fic that I describe particular pieces, I sometimes get a bit technical and even mention measures and particular passages. If you want, you can follow along on [imslp](https://imslp.org/wiki/Main_Page) for free! You just have to download the pieces, and then you can look at the sheet music while reading. All of the pieces are on there except maya, the duet, but if you want to follow along on maya, just dm me and I can try to scan in the score to you! But if you don't want to follow along, that's chill too, it won't hurt your reading experience:)
> 
> 4\. You don't need to know everything mentioned in this fic to understand it! If you need clarification feel free to comment/dm ! A lot of this was indulgent music rambling lol
> 
> 5\. thank you sm to my beta (ofc, always, i love u dude) and to the nctficfic anon that asked about dreamie classical music aus:) if you hadn't sent that ask I don't think I would've ever written this so thank you<3

Renjun was ten when he entered his first flute competition. He was eleven when he saw Mark Lee for the first time at a woodwind competition. And he was twelve when he dubbed the other boy his biggest rival.

His teacher always preached about how important competitions were to improving, rather than focusing on whether or not you won. Renjun agreed with the first part; yes, competitions helped him improve in a different way than lessons did. But the thrill of winning a competition was unparalleled to him. The pride in his mother’s eyes, the satisfaction that would make him feel giddy as he accepted his prize, it made all of the work worth it.

So yes, Renjun had a competitive streak, and he hated it when people got in his way.

Enter Mark Lee.

There were two things in particular that irritated Renjun the most about Mark Lee: how he was practically a prodigy when it came to flute, and how infuriatingly nice he was. It made Renjun almost feel bad for hating him as much as he did.

Mark and him always seemed to show up at the same competitions. It probably had something to do with the music society that was in the area. The website had listed out countless competitions, and Renjun knew his mom would find competitions by scrolling through the pages. Once he and Mark saw each other at a competition for the sixth time, he knew Mark's mom was likely using the same method to find competitions.

Now, at 18 and just starting college, Renjun was proud to say he had many competition accomplishments under his belt, as well as several performance opportunities. He had played at masterclasses for flute professors and soloists. He had been offered a spot in the music program just during the trial lesson with the SNU flute professor. In short, Renjun was _successful_ , and everyone around him knew it. He was one of the best flutists in the area; unfortunately for him, he had to share the spot with Mark Lee.

Because while Renjun's technique was flawless, Mark excelled in the one area he lacked in: musicality.

Musicality was difficult; musicality was giving phrases direction, it was shaping the music and telling a story. Renjun never figured out how to do that; he just put tenutos where his teacher instructed him to and brought out certain notes that seemed important, at least according to the recordings he would listen to.

Each time he got feedback from a competition, there were the same comments each time. "Try changing the style during this part!" "Focus on giving your phrases a clear shape." "Have more emotion and energy."

Renjun tried to follow the suggestions, but every time it seemed to fall flat, and he would get the same comments. It was a frustrating cycle, and had broken his competitive spirit more times than he would like to admit. After several years, he begun to fear musicality.

If he played with the tempo, slowing down and speeding it up in certain places, what would people say about his internal pulse? If he played the runs in a more sweeping manner as according to the style, would people call it compressed? Musicality was subjective, and it was terrifying in that way. 

Renjun envied when people embraced that subjectivity. Musicality was laying yourself out bare, even if that meant making mistakes or doing something a judge might not like. It was having no fear about what others said because it was your own interpretation. 

Some teachers said musicality could be taught. Some said it couldn't.

What _could_ be taught, though, was rhythm and a steady internal tempo. All teachers agreed on that. So, frankly, it felt unfair that Mark was weak in areas that weren't hard to fix. 

So Mark wasn’t perfect, no matter how much he acted like it on stage and in front of other parents. He didn’t play perfectly, either. But Renjun had always wanted to play perfectly. He _needed_ to play perfectly. He dedicated hours of technique and tone work to it, holing himself up in practice rooms for hours on end so he could be perfect. He was technically perfect, but apparently he wasn’t perfect enough. Because Mark, even with his imperfect playing, was deemed more perfect than Renjun’s playing.

Renjun loathed that. 

His mother often lectured him about Mark's playing, too.

"He's really quite good, you know. You should talk to him. Maybe find out who his teacher is. He plays with lots of feeling, Renjun. You need to learn that."

After nine years of playing flute, he'd started to tune her out. It felt like an uphill battle that he couldn’t win; he had to play perfectly, but musicality demanded risks. Risks that he couldn’t afford, because risks could cause imperfections, cracks in the flawlessly coveted image Renjun had created for himself. He did what he was told. He never created anything of his own from the music.

Honestly, he'd nearly forgotten about Mark Lee amidst the college applications and auditions.

The last thing he was expecting was for Mark Lee to come out of his flute professor's room, laughing while holding his flute case to his chest and carrying a bag full of flute books.

When they were done talking, Professor Choi turned to Renjun and gave him a genial smile, beckoning him into the room. Renjun felt Mark’s gaze linger on him until Renjun closed the door behind him.

"You should talk to the boy that just left," she told Renjun as he opened his flute case.

"Oh, Mark Lee?" Renjun asked as he put his flute together.

She nodded. "Do you know him?"

Renjun looked up at her. "Well— sort of. I’ve seen him at a few competitions," he explained. He didn't need his teacher to know about the rivalry with Mark Lee he had come up with in his own head.

"Mark joined the program a bit late, but he's very talented. You both are. His lessons are usually after yours, so you both will have opportunities to talk besides seeing each other in class. You would do well playing together. Chamber music is part of your performance major; consider doing something together.”

"I'll definitely think about it," Renjun politely replied. Honestly, he probably wouldn't if he wasn't in constant fear of disappointing his teacher.

"Anyways," she began, her tone indicating the end of that conversation. She settled into a chair and looked up at Renjun. "Play your five note studies, Taffanel and Gaubert. What tempo did you practice at this week?"

"Quarter note equals one-hundred-twelve," Renjun said with a quick twist of his headjoint into place.

"Begin."

Renjun raised his flute.

♪

Renjun didn't think students would start bringing sleeping bags into the practice rooms so early into the year. He expected it to happen more towards the end of the semester, when juries and recitals were approaching.

It was only three weeks into the year when he saw a half-asleep student emerge from the practice room Renjun usually played in, a cello case on his back and a sleeping bag clutched in one hand. His hair was a mess and the bags under his eyes were so deep that Renjun was concerned about his health. He chose not to say anything, and the student stumbled away. 

Renjun couldn’t help but wonder if that was what he would look like once juries came around.

Once he settled into his practice room, he began to warm-up, slow and steady, his eyes glued to the black tuner perched on his stand. It was always pleasant to practice in the mornings of weekends, when the building was nearly deserted and he could focus on developing his tone and intonation.

He was about an hour in and halfway through one of the many orchestral excerpts he had to prepare for his next lesson when there was a knock at the door. Through the large window of the door, he saw that it was none other than Mark Lee, smiling _way_ too widely for someone who just interrupted a practice session. He opened the door with mild annoyance and raised an eyebrow at Mark.

"Hey," Mark said, sounding a bit breathless. "I just couldn't help but notice you were playing the _Daphnis et Chloe_ excerpt. You sound incredible. Your runs are so clear!" He gushed.

"I—" Renjun began, caught off guard. Out of all of the things he would have expected to hear out of Mark’s mouth, a compliment was definitely not one of them. He cleared his throat. "Okay. Thanks, I guess."

He eyed the book in Mark's hand, the one not holding his flute. He was clutching the Jeanne Baxtresser Orchestral Excerpt book, an identical copy to the one currently open on Renjun’s stand. 

“Are you practicing excerpts, too?” 

Mark nodded quickly. “Professor Choi wanted me to play _Afternoon of a Faun_ for the masterclass next week.”

Renjun froze. He had worked on that excerpt for most of their lesson. She had been especially ruthless about his phrasing and direction.

“She liked my musicality in it,” Mark shyly explained. 

“Why are you here?” Renjun winced at the sharpness in his tone, and felt bad when he noticed Mark do the same. 

“Like, in your practice room? Because I can leave if you want.” He slowly began to back out of the room, only making Renjun feel worse. 

“Wait!” He called out after Mark, halting him in his tracks. Mark was just giving him a compliment, so the least Renjun could do is be a decent person to him. “I meant, like, weren’t you supposed to go overseas to Canada or something for college? Everyone wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.”

And by everyone, he meant his mom, who blathered on about it for a whole month straight, often adding on things like “if you want to study music so badly, why couldn’t you get a full ride to a nice overseas music university, too?” 

“It really was a big thing, huh,” Mark said, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the cheap carpet. "I ran into some issues with the college I was supposed to be attending in Canada. Some mix-up and stuff. Professor Choi was really understanding and vouched for me to be let into the music school."

“So you wormed your way in.” Renjun crossed his arms the best he could with a flute in his hands. He knew the distaste he felt was obvious judging from the way Mark’s eyes went wide. 

“God, no, I didn’t pay my way in or whatever. I just decided the way things are taught here better align with my interests,” he mumbled, voice nearly inaudible at the end of his sentence. 

“I’m watching you,” Renjun warned.

Mark smiled. “I won’t let you down, then!”

“That’s not what I meant—” Renjun cut himself off when he realized Mark had already scampered away. 

When Renjun returned to his stand, he flipped to the _Afternoon of a Faun_ excerpt and spent the next hour on it. 

♪

“Jaemin, isn’t chamber music selection going to start soon?” Renjun asked, looking up from his theory homework. Jaemin had already finished his, and now he was idly flipping through his music history textbook with a rather bored expression. 

“Yeah, why?” Jaemin looked up, shutting the book. 

“Do you wanna be in the same group? I could find us a piece.” Renjun gestured at the towering rows of sheet music and books in the corner of the library. 

“Ah, Jun, someone already asked me,” Jaemin began awkwardly. When he saw Renjun’s face fall, he quickly added, “but if it’s not too hard, I could probably be in the same group as you.”

“Who’s your other group?” Renjun raised his eyebrows. He and Jaemin had been best friends since they were too young to even walk. He didn’t know that Jaemin had other friends that were in music, but then again, Jaemin was always the more social one of the two of them.

Jaemin shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll let you find out during the chamber music recital next month.”

“Cool.” Renjun didn’t have the energy to press, and he didn’t want to worsen the tension that had begun to form between them. “Any preferences?”

“If you choose anything Bach I’ll chop off your toes.”

Renjun snorted. “Noted. Not even any of his sons?”

Jaemin glared at him. “Be prepared to say goodbye to your hairy little toes, gremlin.”

Renjun shrugged and gave him a small wave, then left to search through the rows of music.

After nearly twenty minutes of poring over music books, he returned to Jaemin — who was now scrolling through his phone — with his arms full of different trios and quartets. When he dropped the pile of music onto the table, Jaemin jumped with a yelp, dropping his phone.

“Baroque or French music?” Renjun asked, shuffling through the pile.

“French music. It’s the best type,” Jaemin replied without hesitation. “I’m doing a French piece with my other group, but it should be okay. They never said what we could and couldn’t play anyways.”

When Renjun had found the piece he was looking for in the pile, he slid it across the table to Jaemin. “Ibert. We need a violin player, though.”

Jaemin hummed, flipping through the pages as he tapped out some of the chords and melodies against the table. “This isn’t too bad. I could find you one.”

“Thanks for being the social one, Nana,” Renjun said, aligning the unchosen books to reshelf them. “Appreciate it, as always.”

“You know, if you’re so thankful, send me your music history notes. We have a test tomorrow.” Jaemin stopped fingering through the piece to grin brightly at Renjun.

Renjun scrunched up his face, dragging the piece from in front of Jaemin to place it on top of his stack. “Yeah, no. Go take them yourself. I’m reshelving and checking this out, then going back to the dorm. See you.” With a nod from Jaemin, he turned away to put away the other books.

He was almost through the pile when he spotted Mark at the end of the row he was in, flipping through a book in his hands. Before Renjun could sprint away and avoid any unnecessary interaction, Mark looked up, locking eyes with Renjun.

He smiled and waved, already walking over, and Renjun wanted to disappear on the spot. “How are you? Are you looking for music?” He asked, pointing to the few books left in his arms.

“Yeah,” Renjun said stiffly. It was silent for a beat, and Renjun belatedly realized he probably should’ve replied with a question to keep the conversation going out of politeness. “Did you already choose your chamber music piece?”

“I have! I’m working on something, uh—” Mark paused to stifle a smile, “—special. I’m excited. What are you working on?”

As he leaned over to see the book on top, Renjun hugged his pile of books to his chest. “It’s, uh, special, too.”

Mark’s smile was blinding. “I can’t wait to hear it, then. I’m sure you’ll sound incredible. Anyways, I know you have to finish putting everything away. And I need to check this out.” He held up the book in his hands. Renjun caught a glimpse of the word “Telemann” and assumed Mark was checking out a book for his solo recital or jury. He filed that information away for later. He wasn’t sure why, truthfully; he had just always kept tabs on what Mark was doing. Bad habit, he supposed.“See you around?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Renjun nodded. With a final wave, Mark walked away, quietly whistling a tune to himself.

Renjun wanted to ram his head into a wall.

♪

“What do you picture when you play this piece?”

Renjun looked at Professor Choi, biting his lip. “I—uh—I guess—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” she cut him off. “If you're not thinking anything, then just say that. I would be more worried if you’re playing so devoid of feeling while picturing something.”

Renjun looked down at his stand, glaring at the heavily marked-up pieces of music on his stand. He’d never liked Mozart much, anyways.

“You _need_ to work on musicality, Renjun. I know you’re trying, and I hear it, but it’s not enough. If you played Mozart in G, _the_ most famous flute concerto, the way you’re playing it right now during your jury, then they would fail you right away.” She shook her head. “This won’t do at all.”

Renjun deflated. 

“I want you to go to the opening phrase and sing what you want to sound like.” She raised her flute and played a middle G. “Here’s your starting note.”

Renjun inhaled, humming the note to himself. He counted off in his head, then began. He stopped after four measures, glancing up at Professor Choi for criticism. 

“Your notes shouldn’t be blending into each other. Put space between them. Try again.” 

Renjun did so, keeping in mind what she said.

“There’s no energy. Activate your notes with energy.”

“More air behind the notes.”

“Where’s your phrase going? Phrase through the sixteenth notes.” 

When she was finally pleased with the way Renjun was singing, she gestured towards his flute. “Now play it.”

He took in a breath, then played the same four measures. She nodded in approval.

“Good. Work on the exposition for your next lesson, along with your harmonics and etudes. I expect to hear you play through the entire exposition with musicality. Make sure to write your summary of our lesson in your notebook.” She snapped her own score of the concerto shut, then smiled at Renjun. “Good work today. You’re making progress.”

After Renjun put away his flute and his music, he opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by the bouncing figure of Mark Lee. He gave Renjun a little wave before peeking around him, looking for Professor Choi.

“Mark! How lovely to see you,” She said. The sweet tone in her voice made a new wave of jealousy wash over him. He knew that she was always like this, kind yet firm, but hearing her say that just after ripping Renjun to shreds was disheartening, to say the least. 

Renjun walked to his dorm in silence, not bothering to put in headphones like he usually would. He wanted to brood, and listening to music would break his focus on his personal pity party. When he burst into the room. Jaemin was perched on a chair, scribbling something down with one hand and eating chips with the other. The resounding sound of the door slamming shut behind Renjun made him flounder, almost flailing out of his seat.

“Nice to see you too, Jun, after a whole day,” Jaemin gasped, picking up the potato chip he had dropped when Renjun had entered. “You’re such a caring roommate!”

Renjun rolled his eyes. “You’ve been seeing me everyday since we were, like, two. You can last a day without me.”

“You wound me,” Jaemin sniffed.

“You should’ve gone for a theater major.” Renjun set his flute underneath his bed, then flopped onto the mattress, face-up.

Jaemin pointed to the mountain of textbooks and homework next to him. “I’m starting to think that, too. Anyways, what’s up? Was it the ear training test? I heard it was brutal.”

“No, what?” Renjun made a face. “That was fine. Prof just told me for the hundredth time that I have no musicality. And she _loves_ Mark, like she let him into the music program super late.”

“When are you gonna let this thing with Mark go? The dude doesn’t even hate you,” Jaemin asked with a sigh, pushing away whatever sheet he was working on. 

“Do you know him personally?”

“I mean, yeah. He seems fine. He’s good friends with the guy I’m seeing, so.” Jaemin plucked another chip from the bag lying on his desk, chewing it loudly.

Renjun paused, processing Jaemin’s words as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Holy shit, you’re seeing someone?”

Jaemin swallowed the chip he was chewing on and shot Renjun finger guns. “Surprise! I didn’t wanna say anything because it hasn’t gotten serious-serious, you know. But we’ve gone on a few dates, and he’s great, so…” he trailed off, becoming uncharacteristically shy. 

Jaemin then brushed off the crumbs clinging to his hands (Renjun reminded himself to yell at Jaemin about that later; he didn’t have unlimited time to clean up after Jaemin’s messy habits) and clapped. “Also! We need to start meeting for chamber music. I already asked Yangyang and he agreed to be in our chamber group.”

“Are you free tomorrow?” Renjun asked. “We can sight-read and play through it to get a feel for how everyone plays.” 

Jaemin grabbed his phone from where it was dangerously teetering at the edge of his desk. “I’ll text Yangyang now to check, but I’m good for tomorrow. Is six okay?”

“I have rehearsal at 7:30, so an hour-ish should definitely be enough.”

“Cool. Yeah, he says ‘see you then’ exclamation mark, so we’re set.” Jaemin looked up at his phone to grin at Renjun.

Renjun cracked his knuckles and rolled his head. “I’m gonna beat Mark’s ass.”

“It’s a recital, Renjun,” Jaemin sighed. “There are no asses to beat.”

♪

No matter how much Renjun tried to push it out of his head, it was an inescapable fact that Mark Lee was good at what he did.

When Mark had stepped up to the front of the hall to play his excerpt, Renjun had an inkling of what to expect. But of course, Mark Lee, the flutist everyone and their parents always talked about, exceeded all expectations. 

The rhythm was shaky at best. Mark’s rubato was nice, but it often made the tempo go off, and it was better suited for a solo piece rather than an orchestral excerpt. His breaths were too long, and Renjun knew if he had played the excerpt as it was now for an audition, he would have a difficult time being admitted to an orchestra. 

Yet, despite that, Mark’s tone was beautiful. He knew how to employ different tone colors throughout the short excerpt, creating comprehensive phrases that ended with gentle tapers. His dynamics, never too intense or uncontrolled, were always complimented with vibrato. 

When Professor Choi had said in their lessons to add direction to his phrases, this is what she had meant. Complete knowledge of what a phrase meant to the piece, of how it affected the phrases around it. 

When he finished, he brought down his flute, nodding politely at the scattered applause. Renjun didn’t miss the awestruck expression most of his classmates wore. He knew what that felt like because that was how he was once, when he heard Mark play for the first time. 

Professor Choi turned away from Mark and towards the rest of the studio. “Can we please have feedback for Mark?” 

A few people went, all of them gushing about his “beautiful phrasing,” and runs, which “felt like they were cascading.”

And then Renjun raised his hand, face cautiously set not to give away the twisting jealousy in his stomach. When Professor Choi nodded at him, he said, “You didn't hold the C-sharp at five bars after two for long enough; it was a beat too short. Also, your breaths are too long and they make you go out of time.” 

When he realized that he hadn’t complimented Mark like the rest of the studio did, he meekly added on, “The phrasing was really nice. I liked what you did with your vibrato to bring out the dynamics.” 

Mark smiled gratefully at him, just as he had with the others. Renjun sagged into the back of his chair. 

Two more people gave Mark critique, but Renjun didn’t pay attention. He was next to play, and he was already hurriedly tapping through the fingerings of his own excerpt against his notebook. He stopped when he noticed Professor Choi giving final comments for Mark, which Renjun hastily jotted down. 

When she had finished, Mark thanked her with a deep bow. “Great work, Mark!” Professor Choi said, leading the applause. “Your musicality is amazing as always.”

Renjun put so much pressure on his pencil against his notebook that the lead snapped.

When he got up to play, Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8 excerpt in one hand and his flute in the other, he heard the quiet clink of pencils being refilled with lead and a few murmured comments here and there. Performing in front of others had never made him nervous; he had a firm belief that he was born to be on the stage, showing the world what he could do.

After adjusting his stand and playing a few tuning notes, he received the signal from Professor Choi to begin. With a steady internalized count-off and a deep breath, he began.

The thing about playing technically difficult passages was that once you broke it down, it wasn’t something to be scared of. Difficult passages took the form of leaping intervals, quick passages that required carefully nimble fingers, and unfamiliar rhythmic patterns.

Dynamics were simply another layer to those passages. Dynamics told you where to increase intensity, where to make your sound hushed, and where to let it soar, loud and free. 

To make it more than that, though? That was musicality. 

When he played his last note, an eighth note middle G, he lowered his flute with a smile. He knew his technique work was flawless; the especially tricky third-octave runs had come out with ease, and the intervals were cleanly executed. 

The room clapped, and Renjun caught a few shocked expressions amid the crowd, which only made his satisfaction grow. The audience’s reactions were always his favorite part of performing. As he scanned the room, he noticed Mark was clapping louder than everyone else.

He met Professor Choi’s eyes, who nodded, clearly very pleased. Renjun’s smile widened.

Once the applause had quieted down, people began holding up their hands for feedback. There were several compliments about the clarity of his technique and tone. Most of the critique was about musicality, though. Suggestions to bring out accents, to add more vibrato on the opening statement, to create a greater dynamic contrast between parts.

Mark’s feedback was especially full of praise, complimenting his resounding, clear tone and intonation, among other things. It only made Renjun more skeptical of the other. What were his true intentions? He knew Mark wasn’t just being nice for the sake of being nice. No one was like that in music. His mother had made sure to remind him of that every day since Renjun had announced he was going to major in flute performance, and that no one would be able to convince him otherwise.

When Renjun was finished, he thanked the studio and Professor Choi with a bow, then hastily made his way back to his seat to note down the feedback he received. He was cleaning out his flute when Mark suddenly walked up to him. Renjun made a mental note to be more aware of his surroundings in the future so he could escape their uncomfortable interactions.

“You know, you always manage to amaze me,” Mark said, chuckling. Renjun didn’t understand what was so funny.

“Thanks,” Renjun gruffly replied, focusing on his cleaning rod in lieu of looking at Mark. “You— you were good, too.”

“Thanks. It means a lot.” There was an overwhelming amount of sincerity in Mark’s expression.

It made Renjun’s insides churn.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Mark waved, before turning away to gather his belongings. Renjun narrowed his eyes at Mark’s retreating back.

He would. Indeed he would.

Renjun was going to show Mark who was really on top, and it wouldn’t be Mark with his too-kind smiles and endless praises.

♪

Renjun had taken a liking to Yangyang. Since they began rehearsing together, Yangyang sat with him and Jaemin during some of their classes. He was laid-back and funny, and definitely one of the most talented musicians Renjun had ever met. Usually, when the class was going over something Renjun already knew, he would pass small notes between him and Jaemin, the three of them quietly giggling about the latest gossip or the small doodles Jaemin drew on torn scraps of paper. 

So, when music history class came around, their collective least-favorite class, Yangyang became suspicious when Renjun didn’t reply to all three of his notes, eyes fixed on the board.

“Dude, what’s with you? You literally studied ahead on this unit. Why are you so focused?” Yangyang asked, poking Renjun’s arm.

In front of them, their professor asked a question about the types of music found during the Impressionist era. Renjun’s hand shot up into the air.

“He’s trying to impress someone,” Jaemin guessed. “He’s gonna go all know-it-all and start answering all of the professor’s questions.”

Renjun glared at him. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. Just showing _someone_ that I’m in charge, that’s all,” he hissed.

“He’s trying to impress Mark,” Jaemin peered around Renjun to explain to Yangyang in a whisper, as if Renjun wouldn’t be able to hear. “He has a weird one-sided rivalry going with him.” Renjun kicked the side of Jaemin’s shin. He dejectedly dropped his hand when their professor called on someone else. 

“Mark? Isn’t he, like, the nicest person in our major?” Yangyang asked back. Yangyang leaned backwards into his seat, then turned in Renjun. “Dude, what gives? You should give him a chance. There’s no point in hating him.”

“Don’t try to convince him not to,” Jaemin said, leaning on Renjun’s notebook to talk to Yangyang. “I’ve tried for years.”

“Years? Man, that’s kinda sad,” Yangyang replied, and Renjun loathed how comfortable the two carried on their conversation while they were obstructing his notebook and completely distracting him. He wasn’t really listening, truthfully; he was paying just enough attention to hear when his professor was asking a question. His main issue was the fact they were both talking shit about him right in _front_ of him. 

He was about to push Jaemin off, or at least start doodling on him with a permanent marker until he noticed, when he heard a beep from Jaemin’s phone. Jaemin, too engrossed in complaining about Renjun’s ‘perfectionist-habits’ didn’t hear it. Renjun leaned over and grabbed it from where it was facedown on Jaemin’s side, then turned it on. Covering his lockscreen was two texts from a contact Renjun didn’t recognize.

“‘Sunshine’?” Renjun read outloud, gagging. “You guys already have pet names.”

At this, Jaemin sat straight up, nearly hitting Renjun in the chin. He snatched away his phone, pouting at Renjun. “Don’t look through my messages!”

Renjun shrugged. “I would’ve just unlocked it to take notes, since you were so graciously blocking my notes.”

“You weren’t going to,” Yangang cheekily said.

Renjun grinned. “No I wasn’t.”

Jaemin’s pout only deepened. “Fine, go be a nerd and answer questions and get brownie points from prof and Mark.” He unlocked his phone and began typing a text, a giddy smile replacing his frown. 

Renjun shuddered. He hoped he would never act like that when anyone texted him.

He returned his attention to the board, where his professor was in the middle of asking a question. Renjun caught the tail-end of it, something about the defining characteristics of Impressionist music. Of course, Renjun knew it — Impressionism was his favorite music era. As soon as his hand was in the air, his professor called on him.

“There was emphasis on tone colors, use of uncommon scales, and irregular music forms.”

His professor smiled. “Very good. Do you know any pieces that employed any or all of these techniques?”

“Since Debussy initiated this era of music, all of his pieces used most, if not all, of these techniques. An example of this is his _La Mer._ Faure is another notable example: his flute piece _Fantasie_ uses whole-tone scales and deviates from your usual Sonata form.”

His professor laughed and clapped his hands, clearly very impressed. Renjun felt his chest swell with pride, and faintly, he hoped Mark was listening. Mark had always been a good student, from what he had heard. Maybe now Mark would take him as a serious threat, instead of someone to coddle and shower with praises. 

His greatest success, though, was in sight-singing and diction class. The course was notable for causing many music majors to drop out; you had to pass it, but several people ended up failing it and had to retake it.

Renjun was one of the few exceptions. Because while all of his friends hated the class, he loved it.

It was, by far, one of his easiest classes. Renjun had an exceptional ear; he had perfect pitch, and combined with the vocal lessons he’d taken since he was twelve, he was every professor’s dream. He was always the example in the class, and whenever he had to sing in front of each other, everyone else would fall silent, intently listening to him.

Now that he was paying special attention to Mark, he noticed that Mark, on the other hand, was atrocious at sight-singing. Whenever Mark had to sing, he could never find the right pitch, and he had no concept of how low or high a semitone or even a whole tone was. On the rare occasions Mark would get the pitch right, he was always either flat or sharp. He could, however, carry a tune, since he wasn’t all that bad at singing.

Renjun could tell he always got nervous, too; his voice would quiver when it was his turn. One would think that nearly two months into the year you would start getting used to singing in front of your classmates, but that was clearly not the case for Mark.

Renjun felt smug about finally being better than Mark at something — which was probably a bit cruel and immoral — but he also pitied him. Renjun knew he had an advantage, and he felt bad that Mark was trying so hard but to no avail.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he didn’t want Mark’s prospective flute career to end because he didn’t have a good grasp on ear training.

Before that day, Renjun never noticed how quiet Mark got after sight-singing class. He usually would chat with his friends as he left a class, a bright grin ever present on his face. But now, he looked down at his feet as he exited through the lecture hall doors a few paces ahead of Renjun. He was humming something quietly to himself, and Renjun quickly recognized it as the short etude they had focused on during class.

Renjun’s guilt only grew, and he wasn’t exactly sure why.

They sat two seats away from each other during their full ensemble. Renjun never spared Mark a glance, instead giving his full attention to the music in front of him. He did, however, notice Mark was playing quieter than usual. The sight-singing class must have hurt his self-esteem more than Renjun thought. He suspected it had something to do with the important assessment they would be taking in class next week.

Mark typically tried to approach him after ensemble, and each time Renjun unsuccessfully attempted to swerve out of his way. He had picked up on the pattern after a whole month of Mark coming up to him and creating small talk. Now that he understood what Mark did, he had the option of avoiding him by sprinting out of the rehearsal room before Mark could find him. It had worked before. 

But this time, when rehearsal ended, Renjun went up to Mark first. “Good luck at the recital this weekend,” he said with a stiff nod.

Mark smiled and replied with a small “thank you” and Renjun felt slightly less guilty.

♪

Renjun prided himself on three things: his confidence, his technique, and his preparedness. 

When he entered into the small hall that the chamber music recital was in, he squared his shoulders, a bounce in his step. He, Yangyang, and Jaemin had practiced for hours every day for the last week, and Renjun was sure it was perfect. If they played their trio in the same way they played during their dress rehearsal, then their performance should go without a hitch.

They were one of the first people to go, not that Renjun particularly minded. They would set the bar for everyone else, and Renjun was confident they would set it high.

Once it was their turn, Renjun stood up, Yangyang and Jaemin doing the same, and the three walked to the stage. After setting up and introducing themselves, they began with a synchronized cue-in of Renjun’s flute and Yangyang’s violin.

Renjun didn’t have much experience with chamber music. He had played in several bands, both in school and in other organizations, and in small duets and trios with other flutists. He once played a duet with a clarinet player, but he found her so insufferable—she never practiced and smacked her lips during her rests—that he vowed to never play with another player that wasn’t a flutist. 

But now, chamber music was part of his graduation requirement; if he didn’t play in a certain amount of chamber music recitals within the four years of his major, he wouldn’t be allowed to graduate. He wasn’t about to prove his mom right about the fact that he wouldn’t get anywhere with flute. He would graduate with high honors and leave Seoul to embark on something special with flute playing.

Renjun honestly expected to hate chamber music more than he actually did. He enjoyed the dynamic he, Yangyang, and Jaemin had when they played. 

Yangyang was the daredevil; if it had been up to him, they would’ve taken the second movement thirty clicks faster. He pushed the three of them to add in things they wouldn’t have even thought of otherwise, always brimming with new ideas. 

Jaemin was the emotion of the group; he understood musicality and was able to convey it artistically. He wasn’t great at explaining it, but he provided a steady example for Renjun and Yangyang to build off of. 

Renjun was the leader; he was careful and ensured each aspect of their technical playing was polished, from their pitch to their intonation. He set the bar for the others to aim for, and they met his expectations, every single time.

They listened to each other with ease, letting each others’ styles shape their own playing. They were able and more than willing to do ritardandos and accelerandos where they saw fit (it was usually Yangyang and Jaemin that suggested playing with the tempo; Renjun would never take that risk). 

He played through their piece with so much confidence that he was sure everyone in the audience could feel it. Renjun was secure on every fingering, every run, every little passage that would trip up most flutists. Because that’s who he was. He was Huang Renjun: meticulous, cautious, calculating. He never messed up.

When they finished with a synchronized flourish, the room burst into applause. Renjun beamed, and the three of them bowed.

There were four more groups after them. But more notably, Mark’s group was right after Renjun’s. As Mark got up to set up, he mouthed a ‘great job’ to Renjun. Renjun pretended not to see it.

Jaemin got up from next to him, sheepishly smiling at Renjun. Renjun raised his eyebrows at him as if to say _really, this was who you went with before me?_ Jaemin averted eye contact, and Renjun huffed to himself. Jaemin was fraternizing with the enemy; no wonder he didn’t want to tell Renjun who he was playing with. 

There were four people in Mark’s chamber group. Mark himself, Jaemin, and two people Renjun didn’t recognize. One of them was carrying a cello, but the other was simply holding a folder. Renjun vaguely thought that the cello player looked familiar.

They introduced themselves. The cellist was named Jeno, and the other person was named Donghyuck. Renjun didn’t miss the smile that unconsciously made its way onto Mark’s face. Nor did he miss the way Donghyuck surveyed the crowd and turned to Mark to send him a wink, which he probably thought was discreet. Renjun quickly deduced that the two were dating.

When they got ready to begin, Renjun started. Donghyuck was a _vocalist_. 

Mark had chosen a beautiful rendition of Lakme’s _Flower Duet_ with a pianist, a _cellist_ , and a _vocalist_.

Leave it to Mark to have an ensemble with an extremely unique instrumental combination. And choose a piece arrangement that had likely never been done before. 

The piece was lovely; their distinct timbres blended in a way that gave the piece a cohesive feeling while still allowing each person to shine. Renjun noticed how seamlessly they played through the piece, sometimes even closing their eyes for a second or two during a particularly dramatic swell. 

Despite being surrounded by three players, Mark held his own, his soaring runs and melodies managing to stick out in the most pleasant way. There were a few mistakes here and there, the occasional fumbled note. But even then, it was still beautiful.

Renjun hated how awestruck Mark made him. 

When Mark’s ensemble finished, they wore matching smiles as they bowed. Renjun felt Mark’s gaze on him, but refused to acknowledge it. He instead focused on Jaemin, who was side-eyeing Donghyuck. Renjun noted to himself to make sure his best friend wasn’t being a homewrecker. 

Jaemin was jittery when he returned to his seat. Renjun didn’t have the energy to say anything, so he simply nudged Jaemin to give him a thumbs up. Jaemin exhaled, nodding in appreciation. He would talk to Jaemin about Donghyuck and Mark later. They turned back to watch the next performers, but Renjun couldn’t focus on any of them. 

When the recital was finally over, Renjun put away his flute as he and the rest of the performers chatted about each other's performances. He was in the middle of a conversation with Jeno when out of the corner of his eye, he saw nearly all of the audience members flocking towards Mark. They were gushing with compliments, praising his emotive playing and, of course, his musicality. It hurt more when Renjun realized not a single person other than Jeno and his own friends within the major had gone up to Renjun to compliment him about his playing.

“Excuse me,” Renjun said with an apologetic smile, cutting off Jeno mid-sentence. “I need to go.” He gave Jeno a small wave, then promptly turned on his heel.

Renjun stormed out of the hall, making a beeline to the practice rooms. His jaw hurt from how tightly he had clenched it, but he supposed it was nothing an ibuprofen pill couldn’t fix. He needed to practice, to get better, so he could finally beat Mark Lee. 

It felt like he could never win against Mark. Whenever he thought he had the upper hand, Mark always showed up and ended up being better at Renjun in the places where it counted. Renjun had always been in his shadow, even when they were young. Everyone around him always pitted them against each other, comparing the two like contestants on the reality shows his family would gather around the T.V. to watch. Back then, Renjun didn’t mind because he felt he was a worthy competitor to Mark. 

That clearly wasn’t the case anymore. 

Renjun was deserving of praise, too. He thought he deserved to be complimented by people who listened to him, not just Mark, who clearly only pitied him.

Renjun was striding up the ramp leading to the practice building when he heard loud footsteps from behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder. Renjun whipped around, ready to curse out whoever it was. 

Of course, it was Mark. 

“Hey!” He said, winded and out of breath. Renjun noticed his face was completely red, and that he was carrying his flute and books. It must’ve been exhausting to run this far, especially with so much weight in his hands. 

“Hi?” Renjun crossed his arms. “What do you need?”

“I just wanted to tell you that you sounded so, so good today. You were right; you did choose a special piece. It was really inspiring, Renjun.” 

Renjun decided he didn’t like the way his name sounded out of Mark’s mouth. It sounded too intimate. But what he disliked more was how persistent Mark was when he probably didn’t really believe what was coming out of his own mouth.

“So you ran this far to tell me that?” Renjun asked incredulously. 

“Not exactly. I mean, of course I wanted to tell you that because you deserve to hear it, but I wanted to ask if you wanted to do a shared solo recital.” Mark rubbed the nape of his neck, clearly shy about the proposal. 

Renjun’s eyes widened, unsure if he heard Mark correctly. When he fully registered what Mark was saying, his blood began to boil. The fake compliments, the pitiful stares, Renjun could handle that. But this? He clenched his fists. “Why, so you can rub my lack of musicality in my face, too? Make me look bad? Is this your plan to make yourself look better?”

Mark blinked, panic crossing his features. “Wha-what? No, never! You sound stunning, and I think sharing a recital would be really fun. It could be like practice for our juries, and it helps out that requirement. I’d also love to play a duet with you,” he rushed out, waving his arms around. 

“Yeah, sure. I’m sure you really want to share the stage with someone who has no musicality.” Renjun didn’t want to stay and keep talking to Mark; he was getting angrier by the minute. Mark was making no sense, and Renjun wasn’t in the mood to deal with any ridiculous suggestions like ‘sharing a recital.’

“Renjun, I'd be honored to share the stage with you, even if the stage is a random, tiny room on campus.” There it was again, the sincerity that made Renjun pause and think that maybe, just maybe, Mark actually meant every single compliment he told Renjun. That he wasn’t out to get him like his mom warned him people would do. “You know,” he continued, “if you’re so worried about musicality, I can help you with it.”

Renjun tilted his head at Mark. “Do you really think you can help me with musicality? No one’s been able to. Plus, I’d rather not be in debt to you.”

Mark clasped his hands, eyes sparkling. “I think I can. I genuinely think you have so much potential in musicality, Renjun,” he said eagerly. “You won’t be in debt to me. Agreeing to do a joint recital with me is more than I can ask for.”

“Mark,” Renjun sighed, and a part of him recognized that was the first time he’d ever said Mark’s name to Mark himself, “I would be in debt to you. I don’t want that.”

“You wouldn’t be. And if it makes you feel better, we can do some sort of trade-off. You’re really good at sight-singing and I’m kinda failing the class. Maybe you can help me out?” 

Renjun slumped his shoulders. Passing his juries was more important than his ego.

“Sure, yeah,” he finally said.

Mark’s smile was blinding.

♪

The practice rooms weren’t meant for two people; that was made astoundingly clear when Renjun and Mark squeezed themselves into one tiny practice room to work together, along with two stands. 

“Do you feel any emotions when you’re playing a piece?” Mark asked as he rifled through the assortment of books in his bag. “Like, during the opening of the Griffes _Poem_. Do you feel anything?”

Renjun paused, mentally playing through the opening lines. It was minor, and it built up to the climactic high D. Tenutos could be added to create tension, especially at the tops of runs. But no, he never really felt any emotion during it. He played what was on the page, and what he was told to do.

“No, nothing.”

“Do you know what I think of?” Mark closed his eyes, fingers finding their place on his flute keys as he fingered through the piece.

“I think of someone yearning for something they can’t quite have. They keep trying to get closer, but each time it slips out of their grasp. During the descending runs, I think of a waterfall, cascading over a cliff. At the G-sharp, I always make my tone edgier and richer, almost as if the person is desperate. And when it peaks at the third octave D, it feels like you’re lingering at the top of a rollercoaster just before you fall down. And then the eighth note rhythms with the grace notes is like a foreboding force that trickles away by the end of the phrase.”

He opened his eyes. “Does some of that, at least, make sense?”

Renjun didn’t know how to respond. Not only was it a lot to take in, but it was admirable how Mark put so much thought and feelings in his pieces. It was incredible how he managed to convey everything he imagined while playing. 

He eventually settled on, “That’s a lot of metaphors.”

Mark burst out laughing. “That’s just how I think about it. Of course, it’s easier for some pieces than others, but breaking it up into separate images and likening the parts to different feelings really helps me get each part.”

Renjun hummed. “How do you not make it choppy?”

Mark pursed his lips for a second, considering the question. He then said, “I think about the direction. Where did Griffes want to go with this? What does the phrase mean in the overall opening? I also look at the rhythms and the theory part of it, and that helps inform the musicality.”

Mark pulled out the _Poem_ from his stack of books and opened it on his stand. “Do you want to go through the beginning? During juries, they’ll probably be extra harsh on the opening since it’s so iconic.”

Renjun nodded, blowing some hot air into his flute. He had warmed up earlier that day, so after playing a few notes to check his tuning, he decided he would be okay. He set his metronome to 52 for the dotted quarter note, and began to play.

He played through the first line then stopped, looking to Mark for feedback.

“Don’t be so vertical with the notes,” Mark instructed. “Right now, you’re treating each note like separate entities. Make it flow; the phrase is dictated by the slur, right? Don’t follow the met. Follow the slurs. Think of an arrow going forward.”

Renjun took in a breath, and started again, keeping in mind what Mark said. He stopped thinking about the notes and rhythms — he already knew them well — and instead focused on following the shape of the line. He imagined an arrow piercing through the ink, forward and unrelenting.

When he finished the line and glanced at Mark, he saw that the latter was beaming. He clapped his hands together, giggling. “Do you know how good that sounded? You sounded like a completely different person!”

Renjun furrowed his brows. “Really?”

Mark pulled out his phone. “Yeah. I’m gonna record it, and we’re gonna listen to it. It’s a good way to check your progress.”

Renjun made a mental note to record himself more.

When Renjun played through the line again, he stayed silent until Mark stopped the recording, the wide smile never leaving his face. “Let’s listen, shall we?” He set his phone on the stand and clicked play, and Renjun’s sound filled the room.

The first thing he noticed was how much fuller his tone sounded. It was done unconsciously, but his tone was filled with more energy than he usually heard himself play with. As the recording stretched on, he heard the forward motion of the phrases, and he noticed he had added in a small tenuto on the first note of the quadruplet. When his low E faded into the silence of the room (with a very nice taper, if he could say so himself), a shocked giggle bubbled in Renjun’s throat.

“That was musical,” he said slowly with a shake of his head. “That was _musical!_ ”

Mark laughed with him. “See! You have the right musical instincts. You just gotta take advantage of them. Do you wanna keep going?”

Renjun genuinely smiled at Mark for the first time since he’d met him eight years ago. “Yeah.”

They worked through the rest of the first page for an hour, carefully and patiently, and Renjun had to admit, he didn’t mind working with Mark. It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be. 

Renjun’s lungs were aching, but he knew he still had to fulfill his end of their arrangement. “Do you want to work on sight-singing now?” He asked, closing his copy of the _Poem_.

Mark shook his head. “Let’s take a quick break. I wanna show you what I was thinking of for our duet.” He grabbed his phone from where it was propped up on the stand, then fished out a pair of tangled earbuds from his pocket. He quickly untangled them, then plugged them into his phone. He put in an earbud, then offered one to Renjun. “The piece is in the library, and I already have it on hold. We can go pick it up while listening to the piece on the way there. Everything should be safe since the rooms lock behind us.”

Renjun unassembled his flute, cleaning it out and setting it back in his case. “Yeah, sure.” He took the proffered earbud and put it into his ear. After a few failed attempts at leaving the room, which involved Renjun colliding with Mark and making both of their earbuds fall out, and Mark walking too fast and yanking out Renjun’s earbud, they established a steady pace towards the library.

The piece began with quick double tonguing, setting a sort of base-line for the piece. It was repetitive, but never plain. There were arpeggiated piano chords in the background, giving the piece a mystical feel. Then, the first flute came in, gentle but building, as the player’s vibrato shimmered on top of the held notes. 

Each flute part had a solo, a part of the melody where only they played with the piano. The parts were unique, and played off of each other, as if in a conversation. The use of extended techniques was never glaring, but instead furthered the magical quality of the piece. 

Then, the climax of the piece played.

And _oh,_ this was what Mark meant when he said sometimes it was easier to put images to pieces than others. Because this piece was evocative in every sense of the word.

It felt like a sunrise, blossoming through breathtaking harmonies as the two flutists played as one. It was accompanied with a moving piano line. The two players moved together, going faster and slower tastefully, deliberately, and Renjun aspired to be able to play a duet with such fluidity.

He didn’t notice when they had arrived at the library until Renjun quite literally ran into the door. 

Mark gasped, opening his mouth to probably ask if Renjun was okay. Instead of saying anything, Renjun snatched his earbud, which had fallen out, to hear the last notes of the piece. When it finished, the low note hollow and resounding, Renjun finally began to feel a dull pain in his head. He rubbed the spot, scoffing at himself. 

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, watching Renjun with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Renjun said with a flick of his wrist. “What was the piece’s name? It was gorgeous.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” Mark said, his tone equal parts cheerful and relieved. “It’s _maya_ by Ian Clarke. One of my favorite pieces of all time. I’ve been holding off on playing the piece until I found someone I knew I could trust to really pull it off.”

“So you trust me, then.”

They turned into the library, and it wasn’t until they walked up to the library check-out line that Mark replied. “Yeah. I really do.” 

Renjun nodded, his throat dry. He didn’t know what to say.

Once Mark got the piece, he gave it to Renjun, giving him a few minutes to flip through it.

“We can sight-read through the piece today,” Mark offered. Renjun smiled to himself and closed it.

“As much as I’d love to, we have a sight-singing test on Monday and I don’t think you’d want to fail it.”

Mark laughed breathily, looking down at his feet. “Fair point. Should we head back?”

Renjun nodded again.

♪

The thing about the tiny, clock-less practice rooms was Renjun usually ended up spending more time practicing than he intended to. While that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it often bled into time that he should be doing more necessary tasks, like eating and sleeping. When Jaemin burst into the room uninvited, making Renjun nearly drop his flute with an undignified screech, he really should’ve seen it coming. 

“No more practicing. It’s been, like, seven hours. Come eat dinner.” He snatched Renjun’s music from the stand, ignoring Renjun’s protests. 

“Give me five minutes,” Renjun begged, lightly tugging at Jaemin’s arm. 

Jaemin sighed. He set Renjun’s music back down on the stand, then wordlessly sat at the piano bench in the corners of the room. He opened the piano, and with a sly smirk, he began to play. 

Renjun opened his mouth to yell at Jaemin and kick him out of the room, when he heard the first arpeggiated left hand chord. 

Entranced, he watched Jaemin play as if stroking the piano keys, his touch feather-light. His eyes would slip shut at times, and Renjun noticed how relaxed his body was, the way it swayed with the push and pull of the piece, almost subconsciously. 

As the piece crescendoed, Jaemin’s hands became a blur, crossing up and down the keyboard as he breezed through elaborate runs. It was like that part was the turning-point, because the following sections increased in complexity. Still, the main melody remained, floating above the dramatic flourishes and harmonies. It was a new texture, unique and welcomed. 

Then, the piece reached its climax, louder and more intense than the previous part. Jaemin’s hands were solely in the far end of the piano, pressing the keys with more force than earlier. It was grand and passionate, and not only could Renjun hear it, but he could see it in Jaemin’s posture.

The piece began to slow down, unwinding. And then, it ended with a single, tender chord. Jaemin smiled to himself, letting his fingers linger on the keys for just a second longer, before finally lifting them.

He turned to Renjun. “Ready to go?” He asked lightly. 

Renjun nodded, dazed. He should’ve known Jaemin would pull something like this. It was always nice to hear him play, though. “Yeah.”

They walked to a ramen bar on the edge of campus just as the sun began to set. Renjun’s lips stung and he could barely feel his tongue; it was probably a blessing that Jaemin had forced Renjun to stop practicing. He always seemed to know Renjun’s limits better than Renjun himself. 

“I might do a recital in five months or so. One of the pieces I’m gonna play is the one I played for you earlier. _The Lark,_ ” Jaemin told Renjun, his mouth full of ramen. “I know your recital is in a few months, so you gotta give me some tips on reserving halls and everything.”

“Mark handled that,” Renjun admitted with a sip of his water. 

“How is he? Is he a good teacher?” The wiggle of Jaemin’s eyebrows indicated he meant it with a different connotation. Renjun gagged.

“He’s helpful with flute, yes. Not totally insufferable.”

They had been preparing for a month now. After the first few lessons, with Renjun successfully grasping the concepts of adding direction to phrases, Mark had moved on to more abstract concepts. Since then, Renjun had been stuck. He made progress, but it was minimal. His musicality was still quite stilted.

“You know, he should be saying that about you,” Jaemin scoffed. “You’re probably being such a pain in the ass.”

“Not really.” He absentmindedly stirred his chopsticks in his broth. Truthfully, he had been cooperative with Mark. He didn’t love their time together, far from it, but he had enough respect for Mark that he wouldn’t cause problems on purpose. They were helping each other out, and practicing for their recital. Nothing more. 

Though, it was strange spending so much time with Mark. If it wasn’t out of necessity, Renjun would never spend so much time around him. He would even argue they were spending _too_ much time together; it got to the point Renjun would randomly start hearing Mark’s voice everywhere. He’d heard Mark’s voice in his sleep more times than he’d like to admit, usually scolding him about a phrase he was playing incorrectly. In fact, as Renjun peacefully slurped his ramen, he could hear Mark’s voice in the back of his head. 

“Renjun! Jaemin!”

Or maybe it was actually Mark.

“Mark! Hyuck!” Jaemin called out. He waved them over, laughing. “Didn’t think I would see you guys!”

Renjun sourly glared down his soup. He could stand Mark now, but he hated seeing him outside of the practice room or classes. He noticed Mark’s gaze on him, though, so he offered Mark a curt nod, before stuffing his mouth with noodles to avoid talking.

The three chatted, carrying on a conversation that Renjun couldn’t care less about. He did, however, notice Jaemin’s hand find its way to Donghyuck’s. He was playing with Donghyuck’s fingers gently, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.

When Mark and Donghyuck left with cheerful waves to Renjun and Jaemin, Renjun slumped in his seat with relief.

“Why didn’t you join in?” Jaemin asked, frowning. “They’re both really nice. Plus, it would be good for you to be friends with Mark at _least_.”

“Jaemin,” Renjun began doubtfully, ignoring Jaemin’s concern, “I trust you’re not being a homewrecker, right?”

Jaemin blinked. “What.”

“Uh,” Renjun jabbed in the direction where Donghyuck and Mark had gone, “they’re dating. I’ve been noticing you’re kinda flirty with Donghyuck.”

Jaemin giggled. ‘Nah. They’re best friends. I’m dating Donghyuck.”

Renjun dropped his chopsticks. “Wait.” 

Donghyuck had frequently stopped by to drop off Mark to his and Renjun’s joint practice sessions, and almost always sat next to each other during classes. They seemed attached by the hip.

But then again, all of the fleeting glances he’d seen Jaemin give Donghyuck suddenly made sense. As well as the coy smirks Jaemin would sometimes receive in return.

“So _he’s_ ‘sunshine,’” Renjun confirmed, recalling the contact name he’d seen several times on Jaemin’s phone.

“Congratulations, Renjun. Somehow you are _literally_ the last person to know when I’ve practically told you everything you needed to piece it together. Jun, Donghyuck has literally stopped by during lunch to flirt with me.”

Renjun coughed awkwardly. “I… didn’t notice?”

It wasn’t a lie. Usually, whenever Donghyuck came by, Mark was with him, and Renjun was too engrossed in ignoring Mark to focus on whatever flirting Jaemin and Donghyuck were involved in.

“Congrats, though. I’m happy for you,” Renjun settled on. He meant it genuinely, and Jaemin could tell based on the way he smiled widely.

“Thanks, Jun. It’s your turn, now.” 

“I’m good!” Renjun said chipperly, refocusing his gaze on his bowl of broth in front of him. The thought of dating someone right now made his stomach lurch.

Jaemin snickered.

♪

Renjun was lying on his bed finishing music theory homework when he received a text. A quick glance at his phone told him it was Mark; the two had exchanged numbers a week prior, when they deemed talking before and after class required too much work. He hadn’t bothered saving Mark’s number, but he could recognize Mark’s typing solely because he was the only person on Renjun’s contact list that still used emojis unironically.

“Nana, Mark needs to come over,” he said, tapping out a reply to Mark. “It’s for sight-singing.”

“Cool.” Jaemin pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up, stretching out his back “I’ll be over at Hyuck’s if you need me. Text me when you’re done.” He threw a few papers and books in his backpack, then opened the door with a wave over his shoulder.

Just as it was about to fully close, Renjun shouted, “Use a condom!” He hoped the entire hall heard him.

Jaemin certainly had, based on the very strongly-worded texts he was currently spamming Renjun with. Renjun ignored them, instead texting Mark his dorm building name and room number. 

Mark showed up about five minutes later, just as Renjun was setting out his sight-singing notes. Rejun opened the door to let him in, and Mark tried to make small talk as he got some of his materials out of his backpack. Renjun refused to indulge in it.

When Mark was seated next to Renjun on his bed (Renjun didn’t like Mark, yes, but he wasn’t a bad host), Renjun pulled out a two-line etude sheet from his binder for Mark. He placed it upside down so he could quiz Mark first about the basics as a refresher. He noticed Mark was fidgeting, eyes darting everywhere. Renjun took in a steadying breath. He didn’t want this to be more uncomfortable than it had to be.

“What type of solfege do we use?”

Mark stilled, face pulling into a pout as he thought about the question. “Movable Do. So ‘Do’ is the tonic of the scale.”

Renjun nodded. “Tell me what syllable the submediant of the C Major scale is, and then sing it.”

Mark pursed his lips. He quietly hummed up the scale under his breath, trying to find the note. “That’s an A, so,” he fell silent again, working through the solfege hand motions. “‘La’,” he said. He then sang the pitch, his voice quavering a bit.

“Good. Still pretty flat, bordering on A-flat, but better than before.” Renjun flipped over the page and handed it to Mark.

“Study this for a minute,” he instructed, starting a timer on his phone. “I want you to sing both lines for me when the minute’s up.”

As Mark intently scanned through the music, Renjun realized this was the closest he’d ever been to Mark without something like a music stand or their flutes between them. Even when they practiced sight-singing together, they were normally in a library or practice room. 

The strangest thing about Mark Lee was the way he exuded confidence on stage. He seemed so sure of himself, and always held his head up high, even if he made a few mistakes in his piece. It was strange because off-stage, Renjun had found out that Mark wasn’t collected at all. He often tripped over his words and laughed loudly at the smallest things. He was clumsy, to the point where Renjun had started carrying bandaids in his flute case whenever the two went out to practice. Renjun spotted a bandaid on Mark’s left knee, peeking out from under Mark’s basketball shorts.

Mark was imperfect in so many ways, just like his playing. Yet, still, everyone seemed to love him. Renjun envied him. 

Once, when Renjun was younger, he told the other people in his flute studio what he was struggling with when they would all meet up. Sometimes it was the fingering for the 3rd octave B that he couldn't quite reach yet, or other times it was making his pianos soft enough. Almost everyone was older than him, but they always offered helpful advice. 

As Renjun grew up, he began competing against the very same people that he would talk to about his struggles. He stopped struggling with notes and rhythm, and instead struggled with direction and dynamics. It was then that his mother decided he shouldn’t tell anyone about his weaknesses.

“If they know about what you’re bad at, they’re going to work extra hard on that part so they can beat you,” Renjun’s mother had explained in the car one day, when she was driving Renjun back from a competition he had lost. Renjun was still young then, so he didn’t know any better than to nod and agree with her. It made sense to him. Music was a cut-throat world. If he couldn’t polish and fix imperfections, he had to hide them best he could. 

Sometimes he couldn’t. When that happened, he tried to distract from it, at least until he could fix it. 

In 10th grade, he wowed the judges with his incredible vibrato control to distract them from his wavering pitch. In 12th grade, he placed the Prokofiev Sonata at the end of his competition program to distract from the fact that he was still struggling with the fourth octave D’s, instead making the judges think the cracks were due to a difficult and exhausting setlist. 

And now, in his freshman year of college, the years worth of distraction from musicality came tumbling down. He feared musicality because it distracted _from_ his virtues, his perfect playing in every other way. Musicality meant risking everything he worked for, and he feared taking that risk would lead to his technique becoming something he would end up having to distract from.

The timer went off, and Mark looked up, gnawing on his lip. Renjun stopped the timer and exhaled slowly, trying to clear his head. 

Musicality was why he was working with Mark. Why they were doing all of this. With Mark’s help, maybe his perfect playing could finally be enough for everyone else to deem it truly _perfect._

Renjun looked up at Mark and cocked his head at Mark, telling him to begin. 

Mark’s voice was untrained, but not unpleasant. He could start etudes without needing Renjun to sing the starting note, and was able to distinguish intervals quite well. Besides the interval jumps that usually ended up being too small— Mark sang the second note too flat—his pitch was relatively steady. Renjun noticed that his tempo was still shaky. Regardless, it was a stark difference from the way he was when Renjun first started helping Mark.

“You would probably get a B-plus from that,” Renjun said when Mark finished. “A couple notes were still pretty flat, but you seemed to grasp the overall etude well. Check your internal tempo, though; it got off, which is why you wouldn’t get an A minus or an A.”

Mark exhaled and sagged against the wall. “That’s better than last week,” he said with a small smile. Renjun returned it.

“It is. Good job.” Renjun paused, then said, “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he drew his legs into his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees and sighed. “Easier said than done.”

Renjun wasn’t good with feelings in general. He didn’t know how to comfort Mark, or even what to say in response. Confidence had always come naturally to him. “You’re doing really good, so just keep at it,” Renjun finally told Mark with the most enthusiasm he could muster.

Mark propped his head up on his knees and smiled. “Thanks, Renjun.”

He wished he didn’t see the way Mark’s eyes sparkled at the praise.

♪

“Know any good duets?” Mark asked, shuffling through the books propped on his stand. They were crammed into a practice room, but this time to work on their recital duet. 

“The _Moldau_ duet would be good to learn each other’s tendencies. Like if we tend to rush, slow down, et cetera.” Renjun bent down and picked out his Karg-Elert book from his bag, then handed it to Mark. Mark flipped to said page and scanned through it. He hummed a few bars, and Renjun absently noted how they were the correct pitches with good intonation. His chest swelled with pride.

“Oh, it’s this one!” Mark eventually said in recognition. “Yeah, okay. Met beat?” He held up his metronome.

Renjun tapped out a tempo against his stand. Mark was probably sight-reading, so it couldn’t be too fast or he would fumble too much over the notes. He slowed down his tapping until he found a suitable tempo. “Try 130 for the eighth note.”

Mark set the metronome to the beat, tapping his foot and bobbing his head in unison to the tempo. “Okay, this is good. I’ll be second-flute.” He raised his flute and Renjun did the same. He looked at Renjun, and when Renjun gave him a small nod, he began.

Mark missed the first F-sharp, and Renjun couldn’t stop himself from wincing. Luckily, Mark got it correct in the next measure, and he kept the phrase moving forward, following the crescendos perfectly. When Renjun came in, he noticed Mark instinctually played his staccato note quieter, to help bring out Renjun’s runs.

Mark had figured out the style within five minutes of knowing the excerpt. Sure, maybe he had heard the piece before—Smetana was a famous composer—but it was an impressive feat that almost had Renjun tripping over his runs.

Mark pushed the tempo at times, rushing his notes as more accidentals were added to the run, but Renjun was sure to keep him steady, slightly accenting the beginning of his runs like he had heard his teacher do when he still had an unsteady internal tempo. It worked, and by the last two lines, they were playing in perfect sync.

When they finished the excerpt, Mark brought his flute down with a bright giggle. “That was beautiful,” he said earnestly. “The flute is supposed to replicate water, right?”

Renjun nodded, both awed and irritated that he had realized that so quickly. It had taken two weeks and three different recordings for Renjun to figure that out.

“We play really well together!”

A part of Renjun wanted to say that no, Mark had managed to get off-tempo _with_ the metronome on, so it would be disastrous without it, but Mark was only sight-reading. Renjun had to give credit where it was due. “Yeah. We do.”

“Do you wanna go to _maya_ now?” He lifted up the book behind the Karg-Elert one opened on their stand to show Renjun his first-part. 

“Yeah, sure.” He turned to grab his part from his bag. He didn’t mind being second-flute. His double tonguing was stronger and clearer than Mark’s, and Mark would be able to bring out the melody in a more musical way than Renjun could. He set up his piece on the stand next to Mark’s, and once Mark set the metronome to their tempo, he began to play.

Their practice session quickly delved into one of listening to each other and trading tips. They were working as a team, and Renjun found that he enjoyed Mark’s company, surprisingly. The topic of music was familiar, so Renjun never felt particularly uncomfortable once he allowed himself to relax around Mark.

Mark knew what he was talking about. He seemed to live and breathe music, always noticing nuances in places Renjun wouldn’t have identified himself. Mark’s attention to detail was astonishing, and more often than not, Renjun was scribbling small notes and symbols in his music while Mark tried to explain how certain notes could be played with different emphases to bring out the mood of the piece.

It always got messy when it came to interpretation, though. Every single time they met up, they always ended up bickering about how to interpret the music. It usually was Mark insisting that Renjun should try to come up with his own interpretation, only for Renjun to draw a blank and instead involve himself in an argument with Mark about ways to think about music. 

“Just keep trying!” Mark would say. Renjun would hit him with his Taffanel and Gaubert book.

No matter what, Mark refused to give up on him. Renjun faintly wondered what he did to deserve someone like Mark.

♪

“I hear some improvement,” Professor Choi said, jotting down something in a small notebook. 

Renjun smiled, bowing his head in appreciation.

“However, it’s like the basic musicality is there, but none of the emotion. You have better direction for sure, but it’s not convincing me. You’re missing the core aspect of musicality: the heart. You can hear it when someone’s connected to the music, and I just don’t hear that from you yet. Have you tried playing with visualization?”

“Yes, I have,” Renjun replied. And it was true; Mark had tried to supply Renjun with images to think about as he played. But no matter what Mark did, it all felt too abstract; he couldn’t suddenly pluck feelings from his mind. He couldn’t express the feeling of skimming his fingertips over water, or the sound of flowers waving in the breeze. Once in a while, imagining a certain scene worked, but it was usually a scene he was familiar with, like thinking of raindrops falling against a window.

But his wide range of repertoire all required different images, different feelings. He, quite frankly, couldn’t come up with enough emotions to associate with every different phrase of his five jury pieces.

He’d always been awful at identifying his own emotions.

“It’s not quite there yet. There’s good progress, but there’s still a lot left to go.”

When Renjun left the lesson, he didn’t smile at Mark like he’d begun doing recently when they passed by each other. He kept his head down all the way to the practice rooms. 

The first time Professor Choi had complemented his progress in musicality, she had said it so earnestly, so full of pride, that Renjun was left beaming the rest of the day. But with each passing week, it felt like each compliment was just branching off of the one from the week before, as if she was grasping for new things to say about something that hasn’t changed. There was only so much you could say.

He felt the familiar feeling of hopelessness that he used to constantly feel in high school, that nothing he did would be perfect enough. Even with Mark helping him, he couldn’t get his musicality right. Sure, he made progress, but it wasn’t enough. There were two months left until his recital, and three months left until his jury. If he failed it, he would be on probation, likely delaying his graduation. If he failed it, everyone who said he wouldn’t be successful in music would be right. 

He had made it this far, but it wasn’t far enough. It wasn’t perfect enough. 

When he made it to his usual practice room, he brought out his _Poem_ , assembled his still-warm flute, and began practicing. He noticed how tense his shoulders were, the tightness of his embouchure against the smooth silver lip-plate. But the tension wouldn’t leave his body, his heartbeat drumming against his skull in irritation and shame.

Renjun made it through nearly two hours of undisturbed practice when there was a knock to his door. Renjun ignored it, continuing to play through his piece.

Another knock. “Go away, Jaemin!” Renjun yelled. He put his lip-plate back on his lip and continued to play the same run over and over again.

The door opened, and Renjun heard someone’s footsteps as the door shut behind them. He lowered his flute and glared at the person that had interrupted his practice session.

“Jaemi—” his voice died in his throat as he locked eyes with Mark, who looked quite sheepish while still holding onto his flute case.

“You okay? Your playing is less focused than usual.”

“Just frustrated,” Renjun admitted, shrinking in on himself. “Can’t get my musicality to work.”

“You’re making progress,” Mark said gently, taking a step towards Renjun.

“But that’s not _enough_ ,” Renjun snapped back. His grip was tightening on the barrel of his flute, so he turned around to set it down on the chair behind him. No use getting his nice silver flute caught in the cross-fire of the argument Renjun felt oncoming.

“Can you try what I’ve been telling you?” 

Renjun met his gaze. “It doesn’t work,” he said icily. 

“Just try! I think you can do it.” Mark took another step forward, and Renjun took a step back. Mark wasn’t understanding, and it was making him more agitated by the minute.

“It doesn’t _work_. Musicality and I just don’t _work_ , Mark. I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can, Renjun. We’ve made—”

“I _can’t_ , okay?,” Renjun burst out, throwing his hands up in the air. Mark was looking at him with so much pity that he wanted to retch. “I’ve _barely_ made progress recently. There are the same issues over and over and I just can’t fix them.” He inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect and I can’t learn how to be fucking musical in two months. It doesn’t work for me. Your way of thinking about music doesn’t _work_ for me, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t take too many risks or else I might mess up everything I’ve worked for and I can’t have that.”

Renjun slid down a wall onto the ground, putting his head in his hands. He was embarrassed to lose control of his emotions so wildly in front of Mark. He had never lost his composure in front of anyone except Jaemin. He stared at the carpet, hoping that if he ignored Mark’s presence for long enough, he would disappear.

“Musicality isn’t like that, Renjun,” Mark said finally. His voice was kinder and more understanding than Renjun deserved. “I never expected you to be perfect, you know.”

At this, Renjun wearily looked up at Mark, puzzled. “Everyone has expectations for me.”

“Well, I guess I’m not everyone.” Mark smiled, and Renjun felt a bit dizzy. “You’re free tomorrow, right? Be ready by nine. I’m gonna pick you up for something.”

Renjun furrowed his eyebrows. “For what?”

Mark shrugged, turning around and walking to the door. “Guess you’ll have to come and find out.” And then he was gone.

♪

Renjun’s first thought when he left his dorm room the next morning was that Mark looked way too awake for nine in the morning. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning cheerfully at Renjun. “Ready?”

Truthfully Renjun was very much _not_ ready for whatever Mark had planned. If it was up to him, he would be in a practice room for another six hours, trying to fix his musicality _again_. But yesterday, Mark had left no room for negotiation, so there Renjun was, nodding meekly at Mark.

Mark stayed secretive about where he was taking Renjun. It was off campus—Renjun had gathered that much when Mark texted him to bring his bus pass—but besides that, he was blindly following Mark around Seoul. He would’ve been more concerned if Mark was even the slightest bit more intimidating. But Mark couldn’t even hurt a fly (as Renjun observed during many practice sessions) so if, for some unknown reason, this trip ended up being some kind of ploy, Renjun figured he could easily get out of it.

Renjun hadn’t traveled into Seoul much since he entered college, mostly because he didn’t have the time between the constant testing, hours of credits to be finished, and practicing. He had forgotten how much he loved the atmosphere of Seoul; it was why he even applied to SNU in the first place. 

Two bus stations and one hour later, Mark led Renjun to the towering glass buildings that made up the Hangaram Art Museum. It was a place Renjun had always wanted to visit. He stopped walking, taking in the sight.

“It’s beautiful, right?” Mark asked, voice tinged with the same sort of wonder Renjun felt.

“It is,” Renjun breathed. 

They entered the museum, which was completely empty besides the bored-looking ticket distributor behind the front counter. Mark sneakily paid for Renjun’s ticket, ignoring Renjun’s indignant squawks when he realized what Mark had done. Once they stepped into the gallery, though, they both fell silent.

As Renjun strolled through the museum, he gaped at the beautiful pieces of artwork displayed on the walls. Each piece was unique, as if telling the onlooker its own story. There was a rainbow of colors, each color a different hue depending on the mood. It was breathtaking.

Renjun had always loved art. He grew up surrounded by it; from the expensive paintings dangling from the walls of his house, to the museums his mother would take him to when he was young and didn’t have thoughts of _the future_ weighing on his shoulders. It was freshman year when he finally took a self-indulgent art elective. 

He had loved it. It reminded him of playing the flute, the way you could create and breathe life into something static, like a page of inked music or a blank piece of paper. He had taken care to monitor each line, each curve, so it fell perfectly in place with the final product he had envisioned.

But of course, art was just another waste of time. 

“If you want to make something of your life,” his mother had nagged, jabbing a crooked finger at his final project, “then do something you’re good at. This is good, but not good enough. You won’t get anywhere with art; focus on music since you’re so sure you want to major in it.”

She was right, so Renjun returned his focus to music. He loved music all the same, it was his life to him, but he had experienced first-hand the way people ripped you apart if what you did wasn’t perfect enough. It had only strengthened his resolve to become perfect.

“All art is connected in some way. You can connect visual art, like painting, to performing arts, like music,” Mark said as they walked to the next display room. “Your favorite music era is Impressionism, right?”

Renjun nodded, taken aback. “How did you know?”

“You always seem happiest when we work on Impressionist music. Plus, there was a day in music history that you talked about Impressionism. You seem really passionate about it.”

Renjun smiled to himself. Apparently Mark had been listening that day. 

They walked into the Impressionism showroom, and Renjun’s heart swelled in his chest. The colors in the artworks were beautiful, small brushstrokes blending together to create comprehensive scenes. Renjun walked up to the iconic Pond with Water Lilies, front and center in the room.

“My favorite thing about Impressionism was the way they embraced flaws,” Mark said from behind Renjun. Renjun hummed, looking at him in interest. “Impressionists painted the world, with all of its faults and imperfections. They never changed the scene for the sake of symmetry or anything. They took those imperfections and made them beautiful. And the paintings themselves could be seen as imperfect.” At this, Mark stepped closer to the artwork on the wall, hand hovering around a patch of lily pads in a corner of the painting. “See how the brustroke pattern is different here than in other parts of the painting? It was almost definitely intentional, but what if it wasn’t? We wouldn’t know if it wasn’t on purpose. But in the end, it’s what Monet chose to do with the painting.”

“You know, critics hated Impressionism at first. Called it lazy and unfinished. It was a risk, and not everyone liked it. But there were some people that loved it—” Mark gestured around the room, “—and were inspired by it.”

“Art was never about who could create art the most perfectly. No one ever cared about that! Art is about taking risks, and embracing the imperfections that might follow.” He looked at Renjun. “Flaws make something worth loving. _Someone_ worth loving.” He nodded his head at Renjun, then walked away, footsteps resounding in the silent room.

Renjun didn’t leave the water lily painting for what felt like an hour, inspecting every part of the canvas, every blended color and brushstroke. He imagined what it would be like, painting a scene full of imperfections. What it would sound like.

Even when they arrived back at campus that afternoon, Mark’s words never left his head.

♪

When Renjun stepped into the practice room to work on his jury pieces, he didn’t turn on the metronome to its full volume like he usually did. Instead, he had it playing quietly in the background. His internal tempo was strong enough that he didn’t really need it, but he kept it just in case, as a way to check himself. He made sure to record himself on his phone as well. 

Renjun worked on his Mozart Concerto first. Instead of imaging slashes for separation, or an arrow for direction, he imagined an oil painting, one similar to a painting he had seen in the museum. 

The beginning notes were downward strokes of a paintbrush, each note a distinct line. It was an off-white, contrasting the black background of the canvas. The trills turned the simple lines into birch trees, helping create texture and adding new colors. The thirds were like the small branches winding around the birch trees, looping and twirling as the notes went up, up, up. The forte notes were thick strokes of a brush, and the piano notes thin and frail. 

The fleeting, playful sixteenth notes at the beginning of the development were the yellow leaves sprinkled around the painting, a burst color against the white and grey. Something new, something different. 

The recapitulation might’ve been bringing back the original theme, but it wasn’t repetitive. It added a new layer to the trees, tears riddling the birch bark. The thirds, this time starting on a different note, were green leaves, unexpected in the palette of yellow, white, and black. But the change was welcomed nonetheless, giving the recapitulation a different mood, while still reminiscent of the exposition.

By the last note of the first movement, grand and full of vibrato, Renjun had created a masterpiece. And he didn’t just mean the painting he had made in his mind.

Renjun let out a puff of air, breathlessly laughing to himself. He truly enjoyed playing that run through. He trusted his fingers to do as they were trained, and he focused on aspects that he hadn’t even considered before. Images he never thought he could liken to music.

The door to his practice room burst open. Renjun had given up on getting annoyed by it, since it had become a nearly weekly occurrence.

“That was you, Renjun?” Mark yelled, kicking the door shut behind him as he jogged up to Renjun. His eyes were wide, exhilarated, almost as if he was the one that had just done an incredible run through of the first movement of the concerto. 

Renjun nodded, grinning. “Yeah, that was me.”

Mark clasped his hands over his mouth. “Oh my god. Oh my _god_! Renjun, holy _shit_! I’ve never heard you play like that before!”

Renjun glanced down at the floor, suddenly feeling shy under the overwhelming praise. It was so authentic and elated, and Renjun could feel the pride radiating off of Mark. It was deserved, Renjun had accomplished something he hadn’t been able to do for nearly a decade, and Mark was part of the reason for that accomplishment.

He also realized that besides Jaemin, he’d never had someone be so excited for his accomplishments.

“I haven’t played like that before,” Renjun admitted with a laugh.

Mark placed his hands on Renjun’s shoulders, staring at him with an awestruck expression. “Oh my god,” he repeated. He then swept Renjun up into a tight hug.

Renjun let out a squeak of surprise. He was never big on skinship with anyone, but he couldn’t say he minded Mark’s hug. It was warm, and just made him feel prouder of himself.

After a minute, it got too stifling, and Renjun gently broke away from Mark’s grasp. Mark’s cheeks were pink. Renjun averted his gaze.

“Hey, also, the next round of chamber music should be starting soon,” Mark rushed out. “Do you…” he trailed off. It was always quite funny when Mark got shy, especially considering they were basically friends at this point.

Huh. Friends. The more Renjun thought about it, the more the label seemed to fit. He never thought he would see the day where he’d consider Mark Lee his _friend_.

“Well, what happened to your other group?” 

“Jeno’s already with Jaemin and Yangyang for some Smetana trio piece. Plus, since we’re already working on a duet, we know how we play together. That is, unless you’re already sick of me.” Mark smiled sheepishly.

Renjun vehemently shook his head. “No, no, it would work great. We know each other’s schedule and everything so it’ll be easier than finding a new group. The chamber music recital is after ours, right?”

“Yeah. We can go pick out music before one of our practice sessions?”

Renjun nodded. “Sure, that would work.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mark asked, turning around to confirm. Renjun gave him a thumbs-up, and Mark left.

Renjun picked up his phone, the recorder still running. The total time had clocked in at around 15 minutes when he finally stopped the recording.

He turned it off and tossed it into his bag before returning to his stand to practice. Each piece was a different painting, and for each phrase, he associated a different part of the painting. It was surprisingly easy, almost natural. Dynamic contrast could be created by brushstroke size or vast changes in color. Changes in style could be changes in the type of brushstroke used in the painting. He had figured out the bulk of musicality in a way that worked for _him_.

Four hours and three pieces later, Renjun finally emerged from his practice room, feeling more successful than he had in years.

He left the practice room, knocking on Mark’s door to give him a small wave and smile. Mark eagerly returned both.

Renjun plugged in his ear buds and listened to his run-through on the way back to the dorm. When Mark’s overjoyed voice filtered through the speakers, gushing about how good Renjun sounded, Renjun couldn’t stop the warmth that filled his cheeks.

♪

“What do you picture when you play this piece?”

This time, it was Mark asking the question, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. And this time, Renjun had a definite answer.

“Monet’s _Impression Sunrise.”_

Mark grinned, eyes twinkling in excitement. “Interesting. How so?”

Renjun glanced at the music on the stand in front of him, humming through the first few measures and playing the notes on his keys. “The beginning sixteenths create the water. Since they’re so quick, they’re like the short brushstrokes that Monet uses to paint water. The more soloistic parts, such as the ascending runs, create the boats and sky. And then the parts where we play the runs in harmony with each other is the sunrise itself, adding in color to the sky. I feel like the last few notes, the sixteenths, create the reflection of the sun on the water, because it’s reminiscent of the sunrise in a way? But it’s slowing down, so it’s more finite.”

When Mark didn’t reply, Renjun looked up at him, worried that he had said something wrong. But instead, Mark was gazing at him, mouth slightly hanging open in a mixture of surprise and pride. 

“It’s incredible because I heard what you were describing when we did our run-through earlier,” he said. “You’ve made really amazing progress.”

Renjun avoided Mark’s eyes, sheepish. “Thanks to you, yeah.” Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Mark shake his head.

“Almost all of this was you. Give yourself more credit.” Mark left no room for negotiation, instead quickly moving onto what he wanted to work on next. "Now, we're going to play with tempo."

Renjun’s face fell. “Can we not,” he mumbled dejectedly, but he knew it was a lost cause. Playing with tempo using rubato was essential to musicality, especially when the piece naturally called for it.

“Do you know the sixteenths we have in unison? It would create more tension if we slowed down the first few notes, then sorta let it fall back to _a tempo_. Like—” he played what he was trying to explain, the first two Ds much slower than the proceeding notes, which were at the same speed as earlier. “Don’t you think it adds a bit of suspense?”

“I mean yes,” Renjun conceded, “but wouldn’t that make it look like we don’t have a steady tempo?”

Mark shook his head. “Not if it’s intentional. Like, okay, let’s go back to your painting metaphor. You wouldn’t paint every part of something at the same speed, right? You would be slower on some parts...” he trailed off, sucking in his lips. “Okay, I'm not great at this art stuff but you probably get the idea."

"Could I..." Renjun trailed off, trying to figure out how to form his thoughts into words, "mix musicality? Like use different ways of visualizing?"

It was definitely something Renjun hadn't tried before, but it was worth the risk. The worst that could happen was that it wouldn't work out, and he would need to come up with a new way of thinking about the passage.

“Definitely. Do what makes the most sense to you." Mark smiled encouragingly at Renjun, then asked, "Can I hear you play those measures?"

Renjun raised his flute and played the phrase, starting out the first couple Bs slower before speeding up back into the original tempo. He paused and looked over at Mark for input.

Mark hummed, drumming his fingers against his chest in thought. "Try _thinking_ more about what you want to visualize. You're doing the ritardando and accelerando, but there's a disconnect between it."

Renjun nodded and pictured the hills he had gently sketched out during art class. It was a study on landscapes, and Renjun had ended up enjoying the unit more than he expected. He drew the ascending part of the hills much slower than the downward slope. It was like that, the way he had to play the sixteenth phrases.

After the four measures, he lowered his flute.

"You're missing the emotion," Mark told him. "Think of a feeling along with whatever drawing you're picturing. If you have a specific memory, try thinking of that and the emotions you felt at that time."

When Renjun raised his flute, he pictured the sketches he had idly drawn in the corners of his margins during class. It was the same shape of the roller coasters in the theme park Jaemin had dragged him to in junior year. Jaemin had insisted that skipping school ("it's only _one_ Friday!") would be worth the short lines. They wouldn't have gotten away with it if both of their parents hadn't been out of town, but Renjun had to admit it was a burst of light in what was his usual dreary school-days. Jaemin forced Renjun onto the largest rollercoasters, the ones that twisted and turned and plummeted down impossibly-high hills.

As the train had slowly climbed to the top of the hill, Renjun remembered the suspense, the way he gripped the handlebars tighter, the way his stomach twisted. Renjun could almost hear the scratch of his graphite pencil against his paper, slow and sloping before the decline. It was like the first Bs, slower but promising more to come.

And once the cart had made it over that hill, his stomach dropped as the wind whipped at his face, his pencil falling against the paper as he drew the other side of the hill. He remembered Jaemin's shrieks and whoops of joy from next to him, and his own resounding screams. It was the acceleration of the C-sharps as it settled into a familiar tempo, a familiar straight line against his paper.

When Renjun lowered his flute, Mark was grinning widely, nodding to himself. "Yes, that was it! You had the emotion and direction—" he cut himself off, laughing. "I knew you had it in you, Renjun."

Renjun could feel himself begin to flush, and quickly shook his head. "Thank you, Mark," he said, and he meant it genuinely.

“Anytime.” Mark fished his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. Tapping a few times, he then held up the screen, which had the recorder apo pulled up. “Wanna do a run-through? We can watch each other for changes in tempo and stuff.”

Renjun brought his flute up. “Don’t I always?”

They ended up practicing for another two hours, and Renjun soon discovered that while associating memories and emotions to paintings was difficult, it became easier with practice. By the time they had recorded their last take, it sounded similar to the recording Renjun had first listened to with Mark. 

Once they had finished, Mark insisted on walking Renjun to his lesson, using the excuse that he had “nothing better to do.” Renjun knew it was a lie; they had plenty of sight-singing homework to finish, but Mark looked too jittery from their practice session for Renjun to say no.

Renjun had always loved autumn. The orange and yellow accents against the brown branches, the crescendoing rustling of the trees as a gust of wind nipped through the leaves, only to diminuendo into silence. The scenery was picturesque, and filled Renjun with warmth despite the frigid weather. 

It was strange to think that a year ago, he was competing in every competition he could find while playing in a youth symphony as the principal chair. He had already been admitted to SNU because of the trial lesson he had with Professor Choi the preceding September. Even then, between the hours spent practicing and competing and finishing work for school, he had managed to take the occasional walk, usually wandering around his neighborhood with Jaemin. 

It was a tradition they had begun in 8th grade, a semblance of peace away from the high expectations everyone had for him. Autumn was a time he preferred to spend with his closest friends.

Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind that he was spending such a moment with Mark. Mark occasionally made small talk, commenting on the bright leaves littering the ground, He seemed more interested in whatever Renjun responded with than his surroundings. It wasn’t surprising, though; Mark had tripped over and collided into practically everything on campus, and most of the time, it was because he was too caught up in what Renjun was talking to him about.

Their conversation ended up drifting to their recital programs. Renjun learned about how Mark was working on a Baroque and Classical based program, a stark contrast to Renjun’s French-centered one. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to ask you to do a recital with you in the first place,” he said.

Renjun raised his eyebrows at Mark, a lilting smile already on his lips. “I thought you said it was because you wanted to do a duet with me,” he quipped, his voice light and teasing.

Mark flushed, and if Renjun hadn’t known any better, he would’ve assumed it was because of the cool air. “Well, that was the main reason, yeah,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet. 

Renjun smiled and nudged Mark’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to hear it. Telemann?” Renjun didn’t need to ask him that, because he still remembered when he ran into Mark at the library, a Telemann piece in Mark’s hands. But he liked when Mark talked about himself, something that Renjun had discovered was quite rare for the other boy to do. Renjun suspected it had to do with Mark’s wavering confidence (which was ridiculous to him; Mark had nothing to be self-conscious about).

“Yeah, his Sonata in B minor from _Methodische Sonaten_.” Renjun giggled at the way Mark struggled to pronounce the name, his tongue fumbling through the syllables, and only laughed harder when Mark glared at him in what he probably thought was a threatening manner.

“Okay, okay, what else,” Renjun asked as he tried to stifle his laughter for Mark’s sake. Mark huffed and turned his head away in mock-offense before quickening his pace. “Mark!” Renjun yelled, running after Mark. He grabbed the straps of Mark’s bag and yanked him backwards.

“Renjun!” Mark shrieked, limbs flying about as he tried to twist his backpack out of Renjun’s grasp. Renjun suddenly let go, making Mark stumble forward, almost falling down. 

“Oops.” Renjun feigned innocence as he shrugged. Mark rolled his eyes, but soon he was laughing as well.

It wasn’t until they were in front of the music building when Mark responded to Renjun's initial question.

“I’m also playing Quantz. His Concerto in G major,” he said as he held the door open for Renjun. Renjun stepped inside, and Mark followed afterwards, humming in content at the warmth provided by the heating system.

For once, Renjun didn’t want to know about Mark’s program because it was so ingrained in his competitiveness to know what he was playing. This time, it was interesting to hear what Mark had planned, because they were pieces Renjun had heard of, but never studied extensively. He wondered what Mark had planned for the pieces; what tone colors would he use? How would he create different moods?

“You would play Quantz really well,” Renjun told him honestly. Mark would be able to shape the sixteenth passages with such ease that it would seem like second-nature to him. Plus, he would be able to perfectly portray the contrasting moods of each movement.

Mark only shrugged. “I mean, I guess.”

Renjun stopped walking and leveled Mark with a glare. “Say it. Say you play it well. Be honest with yourself.”

Mark laughed nervously, hands fidgeting with his backpack straps. “I guess I play the concerto well.”

Renjun tsked and shook his head. “No ‘I guess.’ Repeat after me: I play the Quantz Concerto well.”

Mark shuffled back a step. His lip jutted out in a pout. “Do I really have to?” When Renjun’s expression remained impassive, he let out a drawn-out exhale and said, “Fine. I play the Quantz Concerto well.”

Renjun finally allowed himself to grin. “Good. It’ll be great.” They then resumed their pace towards Professor Choi’s room. “What else are you playing?” 

Mark shrugged again. “Guess you’ll have to listen and find out.”

Renjun raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t like Mark could hide these things, especially considering they were sharing a recital. “You know I’ll hear it during the dress rehearsal, right?”

“A little mystery never killed anyone.” Mark grinned, ignoring Renjun’s annoyed huff. When they arrived at Professor Choi’s room, Professor Choi was still talking to the student before Renjun. They stopped a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance between them and their teacher.

“Thanks for letting me walk you,” Mark said. “I’ll see you in class Renjun.” 

“Jun,” Renjun corrected him. Upon seeing Mark’s confused expression, he quickly elaborated, “That’s what my friends call me.”

“Jun,” Mark repeated, before smiling widely at Renjun. “Well, I’ll see you later, Jun.”

When Renjun turned away from Mark and towards the room, Professor Choi was watching their interaction with a pleased expression, waving at Mark before beckoning Renjun in. 

“I’m glad you two are getting along. I’m very excited to hear your duet at your recital,” she told him as Renjun put his flute together.

“It’s coming along really well,” Renjun replied. He was confident with the progress they had been making, both in his own playing and in their duet. 

Once he was prepared, his music on his stand and flute warmed-up, he played his pieces for her.

That day, his lesson was filled with nothing but praises. Renjun had never been prouder of himself. 

♪

Renjun heard Mark’s footsteps before he saw him. He could feel Mark’s presence as he approached Renjun, and turned around just as Mark extended his arm to tap on Renjun’s shoulder to get his attention. Clutched in his other hand was a piece of paper. Jaemin and Yangyang exchanged a knowing look from next to him, and Renjun shooed them away, telling Jaemin he would see him back in the dorms. Once they had walked away, Renjun shuffled along with Mark to the other side of the hallway so as not to get in the way of everyone else leaving the lecture hall.

“What’s up, Mark?” Renjun asked, eyeing the paper in his hands. He didn’t miss the way Mark was practically vibrating out of his skin, an ear-splitting beam on his lips.

“Look!” He thrust the paper at Renjun. Renjun laughed, mostly out of confusion, but turned it over anyways. Renjun recognized it as the etude they had been tested on last week. But more notably, on top of the etude was a dark red _94_.

“Holy shit,” Renjun breathed, eyes widening as he inspected the grade closer. It was two percent lower than his own score, which was one of the highest in the class. And it was, by far, the highest grade Mark had ever gotten.

"I couldn't believe it when I first saw it," Mark rambled, hands flying around as he spoke, "but after checking with our prof, yeah it's really my score! I was like 'wow, I need to show this to Renjun,' so here I am."

Renjun traced over the numbers, pride swelling in his chest. "You're incredible, Mark, god. What's your score in the class now, a B-plus?" He looked up at Mark and handed him the sheet back, which Mark neatly folded and put it into his pocket — not Renjun's ideal way of storing tests, but he could scold Mark about it later.

"Yeah, nearly an A-minus!"

Renjun's eyebrows shot up at that; there was a month-and-a-half until the end of the semester, which gave Mark plenty of time to bring his grade up to an A-minus.

"Jun," Mark continued, and Renjun found himself smiling at the nickname—he'd started using it more often and Renjun liked the way it rolled off his tongue— "is there any way I can repay you? Because you've really helped me so much and I'm really, really grateful."

Renjun waved off his concerns. Mark had a habit of insisting he would pay Renjun back for his help, as if he hadn't been helping Renjun in countless ways. Mark was too nice for his own good.

"Most of this was you,” Renjun said with a light nudge to Mark’s arm. “Give yourself the credit. Plus, you've already helped me plenty. The fact that you helped me learn how to play musically is more than enough."

"Can I at least take you out for lunch? At least as a thank you," Mark said, much shyer than earlier. Renjun thought it was quite cute. "There's a nearby diner that I go to a lot with Hyuck; it's really good."

Renjun made a face. "Can you not talk about my best friend's boyfriend while you're offering to take me out to lunch?" He could practically hear Jaemin's gleeful voice insisting that he was jealous, an accusation that was always accompanied with an obnoxious "awww."

"Sorry, sorry." Mark paused, then said, "so is that not a no?"

Renjun tilted his head from side-to-side, trying to stifle a smile. "It's not a no."

Mark brightened, then held out his hand, almost jokingly. “Then shall we go?”

He wasn’t expecting Renjun to take it, which gave Renjun all the more reason to accept his extended hand, just to surprise him. It clearly did the trick when Mark turned bright red, biting his lip and looking everywhere except Renjun.

The diner was towards the edge of the campus, a part that Renjun hadn't been to before. They both had a few hours until their Keyboard Skills class, so they had plenty of time to lounge around the diner and talk.

After ordering, conversation flowed naturally between the two. Renjun found himself laughing a bit too loudly than acceptable at all of Mark's stories, but he couldn't find it in himself to care because of the way Mark's eyes sparkled at Renjun's reactions. Mark had managed to get himself into the strangest situations, from staying in class nearly thirty minutes after it ended because his shoelaces were tied to his chair (courtesy of Donghyuck) to having to run half-naked across campus to find where all of his shirts were hidden (also courtesy of Donghyuck).

Renjun made a note to finally get around to talking to Donghyuck. It sounded like they would make good friends. That is, when his stomach wouldn't twist into a knot at Mark's frequent mention of Donghyuck's name. He pointedly ignored Jaemin's very-smug and very-annoying voice in the back of his head.

"What was it like auditioning overseas?" Renjun asked once the conversation had drifted back to music. He had considered applying for his masters degree in a world-renowned conservatory, like Curtis or Paris Conservatory.

"Not that different than here," Mark said with a shrug. "The way they taught music was different, of course, but it'll always depend on the teacher. But yeah, it was really nice in Vancouver."

"Then why did you come here?" Renjun asked. Mark had mentioned earlier there were issues with his college in Canada, but if he had liked Vancouver so much, Renjun was sure he and his family would've found a way to fix the issue.

Mark pursed his lips, as if contemplating whether or not to let a secret slip. “I actually came to SNU because of you,” He finally admitted, swirling his straw in his milkshake. “You’ve always really inspired me. I wanted a chance to study with you and play with you and I wouldn’t have gotten that in Canada.”

“Mark,” Renjun began, shocked. He paused for a beat, and then settled on, “that is so stupid. You had a _full ride_ , Mark!”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, blush already creeping up his neck. He took a slow sip from his straw, refusing to look at Renjun.

“But,” Renjun said, trying to suppress a giggle, “that’s really sweet. I’m glad you came here and I got a chance to really meet you and play with you. You’ve helped me a lot.” Renjun smiled at Mark, and when Mark finally looked up at him, his smile widened. “Thank you.”

Mark’s eyes widened and he ducked his head, the blush now spreading to his face. “Yeah, of course. Thank you, too.”

He had to admit that red was a nice color on Mark.

“Our recital next week’s going to be amazing. I can’t wait to hear you.” And Renjun genuinely meant it. He had listened to the few pieces Mark had mentioned was on his program, and he was excited to see how Mark would play them with his emotion-based musical style.

“You too! Your _Griffes_ is so beautiful now,” Mark gushed, propping his chin up on his hand. 

Renjun had temporarily stopped working on all of his pieces with Mark a week prior, mostly because he wanted to surprise Mark with everything he had added musically. He had taken extra care to work out each phrase, each measure, figuring out what led to where and how to exaggerate certain important parts of the piece. It was meticulous work, but now that it had obvious results, Renjun enjoyed it.

“You can’t listen during our dress rehearsal later this week,” Renjun told him sternly. 

Mark frowned. “But we’re having it at the same time? How would that even work?”

“Plug your ears or something. I don’t want you to hear my solo program until the actual recital.” Renjun smiled and took a sip of his own lemonade.

“You can’t hear mine either, then,” Mark replied petulantly, and Renjun could hear the slight pout in his voice.

“Deal.” Renjun extended his hand across the table. Mark took it and they shook hands, Renjun almost bursting into laughter at how uncharacteristically uncomfortable it felt. “I’ll hear you next week, Mark Lee.”

♪

Mark arrived a few minutes after Renjun, as Renjun was getting out his flute to warm up. The first thing Renjun noticed was how painfully overdressed he was next to Mark, even after letting Jaemin fuss over him for an hour before leaving for the recital hall.

Mark was in a casual dress shirt that was rolled up to his elbows and black slacks. Renjun, on the other hand, was in a suit. Before they began warming up, Renjun made sure to shed his maroon suit jacket on one of the front-row seats he and Mark had reserved for their flute cases. He would overheat in it, anyways. 

When he and Mark planned out their recital program, they eventually decided that Mark would go first, then Renjun, and then they would finish with the duet. A bit unconventional, and not exactly the best decision, but they both agreed it would be the most impactful for both themselves and the audience.

They were tuning when the audience began to show up. Jaemin, Donghyuck, Yangyang, and Jeno were the first people to arrive, all of them waving and giving words of encouragement to Renjun and Mark. Jaemin was hiding something behind his back, well enough that Renjun couldn’t make out what it was. Renjun gave them all an appreciative smile before returning to his long-tones.

About ten minutes later, the seats were filled, and it was 3 o’clock, signalling it was time for them to begin the recital.

After introducing himself and thanking everyone for coming, as well as to hold off their applause until the end, Mark began his first piece.

Renjun recognized a few of the pieces. He had heard Mark practice them whenever he was taking a break during his own practice sessions. He had struggled with a few runs then, but now he was playing them expertly, his fingers flying on the keys.

The way Mark played showed through his movements. It was never too much, always controlled and tasteful. They followed the lines of music, as if his body knew the notes just as well as his fingers.

Mark spun stories through his music, each note a word, a brushstroke against a blank canvas that was slowly being filled with color. Renjun found that he could imagine the tale Mark was telling. He was a storyteller, one that used emotions to create an impact. It was alluring, and Renjun was hanging on the edge of every gentle taper at the end of his phrases, every flamboyant cadenza. 

He couldn’t help but be disappointed when Mark finished his last piece, the very Telemann piece he had struggled to pronounce when Renjun had asked him about it. But he didn’t have much time to dwell on his disappointment, not when it was his turn to perform.

When Mark bowed to the audience in appreciation, Renjun noticed the confident set of his shoulders, back straight. The way Mark was carrying himself wasn’t fabricated, like how it usually was upon closer inspection. Renjun smiled. He gave Mark a thumbs-up as he went up to the stand. Mark eagerly returned it.

Once Renjun introduced himself, he began with his Mozart Concerto.

When he imagined the birch painting, he thought of the bright yellow and the way it seemed to shine with joy. It was the same color as the color of the leaves when he and Mark would walk through the quad on their way to classes or to go eat. 

The shades of off-white were more grounding, as if reminding Renjun of his past. Of the time when he couldn’t open himself up to the audience, like he’d trapped himself in a box that he couldn’t escape from.

But most of all, it reminded him of his growth, of the way green seemed to sprout from the winding branches, the leaves standing out against the black-painted canvas.

Each piece was a painting made up of different stories and memories. He let himself feel the emotions he felt during those periods of his life, from small, almost mundane moments, to life-changing events like when he first picked up a flute. 

Red could be passion, but it could be pain, too. Red in the _Griffes Poem_ wasn’t the same as red in the _Burton Sonatine._ Because Renjun used different shades, different tone colors, to make each painting, each color unique. Just as no painting was the same and no memory was the same, no piece was the same. He never played two pieces the same way.

He could tell Mark felt the surprise Renjun had hoped for, because Mark couldn’t contain the little gasps that escaped his mouth at his sudden tempo changes, his cleanly executed ritardandos and rubatos. Renjun had snuck more than a few glances at Mark than he’d like to admit — definitely not one of his more professional moments — and each time Mark’s mouth was wide open, watching Renjun with an awe-stricken expression.

Renjun knew he had listened to Mark play with the same expression.

When Renjun played his last note of his final piece, he took his eyes off of the music, and let himself be surrounded by the reverberating sound that seemed to fill the hall. Once he let it fade away, he kept his flute up for a beat before finally lowering it.

Renjun then invited Mark on stage with him, and they introduced their duet before tuning with the piano player. Mark gave him an encouraging smile, one that Renjun reciprocated, before taking in a breath and beginning to play.

The sixteenth notes began at a light-blue, the hue darkening as Renjun played the lower notes of the passage. It was a backdrop, steady and prepared for whatever would be layered on top. Soon, Mark joined him with gentle notes that grew through the measures like the ebb and flow of water.

It was just like Renjun had practiced alone, making a painting in his head with the notes that drifted out of his flute.

But this time, Renjun wasn’t creating the scenery alone. Beside him was Mark, all bright smiles and kind words, offering a helping hand whenever Renjun got stuck. 

When Renjun forgot to swell a particular phrase, Mark made sure to swell the proceeding phrase as a gentle reminder. When Mark was running out of air and couldn't hold his whole note long enough, Renjun was quick to cover it up with more-pronounced double-tonguing on his sixteenth notes.

They supported each other, they were a _team_ that flawlessly worked together.

Yet, they weren’t perfect. Together, they weren’t perfect technique or intonation or even perfect musicality.

They were imperfect, _Renjun_ was imperfect, but it didn’t bother him. What he was playing, what they were making together, was beautiful. It was full of risks, risks that sometimes caused imperfections that took the form of nervous fingers and shallow breaths, but when risks helped create something so lovely, Renjun couldn’t hate it.

For the first time in what felt like years, Renjun played freely, putting himself out bare for the rest of the audience, the rest of the _world_ to see. No deliberately-placed distractions, no restraints. The fear that would lurk in the back of his mind was replaced with promises of new ideas, a new way of looking at music. Mark had managed to help him replace that fear.

He looked over at Mark, and saw that Mark was already looking at him, the way they had practiced. A way of establishing a connection between them and their playing. With a synchronized motion, they played the climax.

Renjun finally heard the sunrise he had imagined since the first time he heard the piece. He played the sunrise he saw in Monet’s painting, he felt the warmth of its rays touching his skin, warmth that felt similar to Mark’s gentle encouragement and fleeting touches. 

When they finished, letting the low resounding C-sharp fade into silence, they slowly lowered their flutes in unison. The room burst into boisterous applause, a few people even standing up — Renjun caught sight of Jaemin's figure, looking the most proud Renjun had ever seen him. After acknowledging the pianist with an extended arm, he and Mark locked gazes. An excited giggle escaped Mark's mouth, probably from the pure euphoria from the recital, and Renjun couldn't stop himself from smiling at the sight. They stepped away from their stands and bowed deeply.

After the applause had died down and everyone slowly began to stand up, Renjun turned to Mark, who was stacking his flute books on his stand to put them away. "You were really amazing," he said earnestly. Mark startled, eyes going wide for a moment. Renjun must’ve caught him off guard. 

Mark cleared his throat. "You were incredible, too, Jun. I was so hooked when you were playing, it was stunning."

The sincerity in his words made Renjun flush, and he gave Mark a grateful nod before turning away to pack up his own books.

Jaemin was the first to run up to Renjun as soon as Renjun had gathered his books into his bag. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, which inevitably got squished between them as he barreled into Renjun for a hug.

"I've never heard you play like that," he gushed, squeezing Renjun and rocking him from side-to-side.

"I've never played like that," Renjun admitted with a laugh. It was fascinating to him that the people listening to him had noticed the difference.

Jaemin slowly pulled away and thrusted the slightly-squashed bouquet into Renjun’s hands. "Hyuck helped me pick it out,” he said with a smile. “We're gonna go celebrate later you’re both done with everything. You should put that away." He then pointed at Renjun's flute, which Renjun was still holding. "Maybe you want to take some pictures?

Renjun peered over Jaemin's shoulder to where Mark was standing. Maybe Mark wanted to take a picture? For memory’s sake.

"You should go talk to him,” Jaemin said suddenly.

Renjun looked at him strangely. "I already did."

"You know what I mean. We both know you have more to say to him besides 'good job.'" And there went Jaemin again with his all-knowing expression that Renjun honestly thought looked a bit like he was constipated. Renjun huffed and refused to meet Jaemin’s gaze.

“Maybe later.” 

Jaemin put his hands on Renjun’s shoulders, prompting Renjun to finally look up at him. “Take some risks, will you? It’ll turn out okay. Trust me.” He gave Renjun an encouraging pat before dropping his hands and taking a step back.

"Actions speak louder than words!" Jaemin reminded him before turning around and striding away into the crowd behind him. Renjun watched his retreating back until he couldn’t see Jaemin anymore, then left to put away his flute.

Maybe Jaemin was right.

Once most of the recital hall had filtered out, Renjun had excused himself from the conversation he was having with one of the audience members (she was one of the many people that had come up to him to complement his emotional playing) to approach Mark. Mark was listening into a conversation that Jeno and Yangyang were having, the three standing in the corner of the room. 

He poked Mark’s arm. “Could I talk to you outside?” When he saw Mark’s eyebrows furrow in concern, he rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.”

When Mark didn’t move, either out of panic or shock, Jeno nudged Mark towards Renjun. He waved at Mark before strolling away with Yangyang, probably off to find Jaemin and Donghyuck, wherever they were in the crowd. 

Mark’s movements were stiff as he walked with Renjun out of the back door. “Can you relax? I swear it’s nothing bad,” Renjun told him as he held open the door for Mark. As he stepped outside, the chilly air made Renjun inwardly wish for his suit jacket back, which was still hanging limply on the back of his chair. 

He sighed to himself. There were more important things to do than worry about possibly getting a cold from the weather. Hypothermia if it was really bad.

“Jun? Renjun?” Mark was waving a hand at Renjun, trying to snap him out of his thoughts. 

Renjun startled and blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry. _So_ , I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you outside into freezing weather?” Mark nodded and Renjun chuckled nervously. “Cool, ‘cause I’m wondering that, too.”

This was a bad idea. Every survival instinct Renjun had built up over the last 18 years of his life was warning him against doing something drastic like _kissing_ your six-year-rival-turned-friend. 

But still, a part of him wanted to do this.

To do something to show Mark the way he’d been feeling for the last couple of months. Because actions were louder than words, right? It seemed like Mark felt the same way, so there weren’t that many ways this could go wrong. Hopefully.

Not leaving any time to doubt himself further, Renjun grabbed Mark’s collar and pulled him forwards into a kiss. Mark sharply inhaled at the contact but didn’t move, staying completely still. It was clumsy, nothing more than a messy press of lips. 

Renjun quickly pulled away, eyes frantically searching Mark’s as his stomach dropped. “Was that okay? Did I misread this?”

Mark blinked, a slow smile spreading on his lips. “Oh my god,” he said with a shake of his head as if trying to get out of a daze. He lifted a tentative finger to touch his lips, lightly tracing it in shock. “I was just surprised. That was more than okay.”

He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Renjun’s waist, then leaned down until their noses were brushing. “So this is still okay, right?”

Renjun huffed in annoyance and was about to snap at Mark with an _of course it’s okay, I literally kissed you first_ when Mark closed the gap between them and _finally_ kissed Renjun. Renjun looped his hands around Mark’s neck, bringing him closer as their lips moved in sync. 

Each kiss Mark painted onto Renjun’s lips felt like he was yearning for something, tinged with some sort of desperation that if he wasn’t careful, it would slip out of reach. They were waterfalls, spilling over a jagged cliff into a lake made up of shades of blue. 

Some lingered, and felt like Renjun was on top of a rollercoaster, waiting for the cart to fall, racing down the tracks. Others were hasty, short and hurried as if they were the thick brushstrokes Renjun saw in Monet’s paintings. 

Mark’s kisses were blossoming sunrises and sweet harmonies, the type that Renjun loved to indulge in. And Mark? 

Mark was music itself, raw and expressive and imperfect.

Renjun couldn’t say he minded imperfection. 

When they finally broke apart, Mark eye’s sparkled with adoration that Renjun supposed had always been there. Mark lightly caressed Renjun’s cheek with his thumb. “So I’m guessing you don’t hate me?” He asked with an airy laugh, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was saying.

Renjun leaned in and lightly pecked Mark, nothing more than a mere brush of lips. He smiled, his eyes never leaving Mark’s. “Yeah.”

Mark tilted his head towards the door. “Wanna go back inside?”

Renjun nodded, finally becoming aware of how badly he was shivering from the cold. “Yes please.” As he slipped his hand into Mark’s and walked into the hall, he noticed an old band-aid on Mark’s elbow, and the way he was calling out to Donghyuck at a volume too loud to be acceptable. 

Mark was imperfect, but so was Renjun.

And in the end, imperfections did make someone worth loving.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact I've actually studied almost every single piece/excerpt mentioned in this fic:)  
> if you want to see the artwork I described during Renjun's breakthrough/mozart concerto part, [this](https://ocula.com/art-galleries/lehmann-maupin/exhibitions/souls/) is it!  
> I got really attached to this fic aa I hope you enjoyed it ! thanks for coming along on this journey (and Renjun's! ) with me !!  
> sending lots of love <33
> 
> come talk on [twt](https://twitter.com/jisunflwer) & [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jisunflwr) !


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